1% 






Qass 

Book._. 



:c ,C7 a- 



^/"C f 



/■ffjd 




Toward the coast of Earth beneath 

Down from the ecliptic sped with hoped success." 

Pasre 82. 



THE POETICAL WORKS 



OF 



lOHN MILTON 



WITH INTRODUCTIONS 

BY 

DAVID MASSON, M.A., LL.D. 

PROFESSOR OF RHETORIC AND ENGLISH LITERATURE IN THE UNIVERSITY 
OF EDINBURGH 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 
By NATHAN HASKELL DOLE 



33ve3X'' 



NEW YORK: 46 East 14TH Street 

THOMAS Y. CROWELL & CO. 

BOSTON: 100 Purchase Street 



:iO 






Copyright, 1892, 
By T. Y. CROWELL & CO, 



/z~3i^fro 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH 



OF 



JOHN MILTON.^ 



John Milton was born on Friday, December 9, 1608, in a house 
designated as " The Spread Eagle/' in Bread Street, Cheapside, in the 
very heart of old London. 

His father, also John Milton, belonged to a respectable yeoman 
family of the neighbom'hood of Oxford. Having become a Protestant, 
he was disinherited by his father, Richard Milton, the second of the 
name known in the line of the poet's ancestry, and went to London, 
where he engaged in the lucrative business of a scrivener, which at that 
time seems to have combined the duties of an attorney and a law 
stationer. 

In 1600, about a year after his admission to the Scrivener's Com- 
pany, he was married to Sarah, daughfcr to Paul Jeffrey, or Jeffreys, 
formerly a merchant tailor of St. Swithin's Parish. 

Six children were born to them. John Milton was third. Two — 
besides John — lived to maturity — Anne, several years older, and 
Christopher, seven years younger than John. 

John Milton was carefully educated, his father, well known as a 
musical composer of ability, taking personally great pains with him 
and giving him the advantage of studying under private tutors and in 
St. PauPs School, where he was for some time a day scholar. 

That he was a diligent student is proved by his own statement that 
from the twelfth year of his age he scarcely ever went from his lessons 
to bed before midnight, and by his paraphrases on Psalms cxiv and 
cxxxvi, composed in 1624, his last year at St. Paul's. 

His school friendship with Charles Diodati, the son of an exiled 
Italian physician, probably turned his attention to Italian literature 
and was afterwards commemorated in beautiful verse. 

Italian, French, and Hebrew, as well as Greek and Latin, were a part 
of his equipment when he entered Christ's College, Cambridge, as a 

1 Details of Milton's literary life will be found in the Introductions to the various poems. 

iii 



iv BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF JOHN MILTON. 

"Lesser Pensioner." From April, 1625, until July, 1632, Milton resided 
most of the time in the rooms which are still shown, though he made 
frequent visits to London, and during his first year was suspended 
owing to an altercation with his tutor, "a man of dry, meagre nature." 

By the students — there were about twenty-nine hundred in the 
sixteen colleges at that time and two hundred and sixty-five in Christ's 
College — Milton was nicknamed "the Lady," because of his fair com- 
plexion, long hair, graceful elegance of appearance, irreproachable 
morals, and delicacy of taste ; he was also unpopular with the authorities, 
probably because of his outspoken criticism of the University system 
then in vogue. 

Nevertheless his abilities were recognised, and when he took his 
degree of Master of Arts, which then required seven years^ residence, 
he was regarded as the foremost scholar of the University. 

His first intention was to take orders in the Church ; had he done so, 
he might have remained in residence much longer as a clerical Fellow. 
He indeed subscribed to the Articles on taking his degree, but he had 
no sympathy with the strict Church discipline represented by Arch- 
bishop Laud. 

It is evident both from the draft of a letter written to some dissatisfied 
well-wisher, and from his " Sonnet on arriving at the Age of Twenty- 
three," that these years were a period of despondency and uncertainty. 
What career v/as open to him? He had already written enough poems, 
in Latin and English, including the "Ode on the Morning of Christ's 
Nativity," and the Sonnet to Shakspere, to make a volume that would 
surely have established his reputation, but all save two were still in 
manuscript. 

Milton's father had retired^to Horton in Buckinghamshire, about 
twenty miles from London, and here the poet, after leaving Cambridge, 
lived for five years and eight months, during which he himself says '• he 
was wholly intent through a period of absolute leisure on a steady 
perusal of the Greek and Latin writers, but still so that occasionally he 
exchanged the country for the city either for the purpose of buying 
books, or for that of learning anything new in mathematics or in music 
in which he then took delight.' 

At Horton, Milton was inspired to compose the best of his shorter 
poems : the " Sonnet to the Nightingale," the beautifully contrasted 
pictures in " L' Allegro " and " 11 Penseroso," the " Arcades," the 
masque of " Comus," and the classic lament for " Lycidas." " Comus " 
was played at Ludlow Castle on Michaelmas Night. 1634, but there is 
no proof that Milton himself was present. If he had been, he would 
perhaps have found further inspiration in the historic castle where 
among other famous memories that of the magnificent installation of 
Charles I. as Prince of Wales was at that time still vivid. 

In 1637 an anonymous edition of "The Masque presented at Ludlow 
Castle" was published by Milton's friend, the musician, Henry Lawes, 
and a copy was presented to Sir Henry Wotton or Wootton, Provost of 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF JOHN MILTOJST. V 

Eton, who wrote to the author : " I should much commend the tragi- 
cal part if the lyrical did not ravish me with a certain Dorique delicacy 
in your songs and odes, whereunto I must plainly confess to have seen 
yet nothing parallel in our language." 

In September of that same year Milton wrote to his friend Diodati 
complaining of his cramped situation in the country and announcing a 
project of taking chambers in London. The death of his mother un- 
doubtedly had much to do with his discontent, and the quiet though 
nightingale-haunted banks of the sluggish Colne were not best adapted 
to satisfy the mind of a young man who was beginning to pine for a 
wider existence. But before he should take up his residence in London, 
a period of foreign travel seemed requisite and necessary, and, accord- 
ingly, armed with letters of introduction from Sir Henry Wotton and 
others, he found himself in Paris in April or May, 1638. Here he was 
kindly received by the English Ambassador, Lord Scudamore, who 
introduced him to the famous Hugo Grotius, the Swedish envoy. 
Accompanied by his man servant, Milton leisurely travelled to Italy, 
making brief stops at Nice, Genoa, Leghorn, and Pisa. At Florence 
he spent the months of August and September, enjoying the "acquain- 
tance of many noble and learned." He especially mentions seven 
young Italian literati as distinguished friends of his, and, while none of 
them left a very deep mark on their native literature, they are remem- 
bered for their connection with the English poet. Two of them sent 
commemorative verses to be inserted in the " Paradise Lost." At 
Florence, Milton met "the starry Galileo," recently released from con- 
finement at Arcetri and dwelling under the surveillance of the Inquisi- 
tion. Milton mentions him twice in "Paradise Lost" — once by 
name — and was unquestionably greatly influenced by " the Tuscan 
artist's " theories. 

From Florence he went by way of Siena to "the Eternal City," where 
he also spent two months and was received in the most select society. 
He tells of being present at a magnificent concert at the palace of 
Cardinal Barberini : " himself waiting at the doors, and seeking me out 
in so great a crowd, nay, almost laying hold of me by the hand, 
admitted me within in a truly most honourable manner." At this con- 
cert he heard the singer Leonora Baroni, whose singing so impressed 
him that he composed three Latin epigrams in her honour. A voice 
inspired him more than all the relics of that antiquity which he had 
made such a large part of his education. 

He spent the two last months of the year at Naples, whither he pro- 
ceeded in company with " a certain Eremite Friar," by whom he was 
introduced to the Marquis of Villa, Giovanni Battista Manso, then over 
eighty years of age. 

Manso had been the friend and patron of the poet Tasso, and this 
title to fame Milton commemorates in a Latin poem wherein he 
expressed his obligations for hospitality received. In this epistle also 
he unfolds his project of writing an epic on King Arthur and the Table 



vi BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF JOHN MILTON. 

Round, and assured Manso that Britain was not wholly barbarous since 
the Druids had been poets in their day. Chaucer and Shakspere 
would probably have seemed to the Italian as little less than barbari- 
ans, as did the one to the English contemporary of Milton and Dryden, 
and the other to Voltaire. He did not mention them. 

Manso presented Milton with two silver cups, and remarked that he 
should have liked him better if he had abstained from religious contro- 
versy. Milton was certainly not one to hold his peace when a chance 
arose to defend his faith. To be sure, he made the resolution not of 
his own accord " to introduce conversation about religion, but if inter- 
rogated about the faith, whatsoever he should suffer, to dissemble 
nothing." He was not molested, but it is said that in Rome the Jesuits 
kept their eyes on him. 

P>om Naples Milton intended to cross over to Sicily and to continue 
his tour even as far as Greece, but as he himself explained : ' The 
sad news of civil war in England determined him to return, inasmuch as 
he thought it base to be travelling at his ease for intellectual culture 
while his fellow-countrymen at home were fighting for their liberty.' 
The news is supposed to have been the revolt of Scotland and Charles's 
resolution to put the rebellion down by arms. Later reports seem to 
have countermanded any haste, for, though he gave up his Eastern jour- 
ney he spent yet another two months in Rome in spite of the English 
Jesuits who tried to entrap him in indiscreet utterances. Again he was 
in Florence during March and April, 1639. He spent May in Venice, 
whence he sent to England by sea the books that he had bought in 
Italy. He himself crossed the Pennine Alps to Geneva, taking Bologna 
and Ferrara on the way. It is possible that he wrote his Italian sonnets 
at Bologna, the lady to whom they are all addressed being mentioned 
as an inhabitant of " Reno's grassy vale," but it is not known whether 
this lady was a myth or a reality. 

For a week or two in June, 1639, he was in Geneva, where he spent 
much time in conversation with Dr. Jean Diodati, the theologian, the 
uncle of his friend Charles. Thence by way of Paris he returned 
home, which he reached in August, 1639, after an absence of nearly 
sixteen months. 

His next important step must have been a trial to one who was con- 
templating "flights above the Aonian mount": his only surviving 
sister, having been left a widow with two sons, had married again and 
Milton found it his duty to undertake the education of his two nephews, 
Edward and John Phillips, aged respectively eight and nine. The 
younger came to live with his uncle, who " took him a lodging in St. 
Bride's Churchyard, at the house of one Russel, a tailor." The other 
went daily from his mother's house to his lessons. 

In the memorable year 1640 Milton hired 'a house sufficiently large 
for himself and his books,' and removed there with his two nephews. 
His elder nephew describes it as "a pretty garden-house in Aldersgate 
Street, at the end of an entry^ and therefore the fitter for his turn by 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF JOHN MILTON: vii 

reason of the privacy/^ It was described a few years later as resem- 
bling '^an Italian street by reason of the spaciousness and uniformity 
of the buildings and straightness thereof, with the convenient distance 
of the houses." 

Here he hoped to have the leisure to contribute to English literature 
some lofty work that would make his name famous. But he was to be 
disappointed. The " Long Parliament " met on the third of November, 
1640, and Milton soon saw that his duty was to take part in the broil of 
politics. " I could not/' he said, " be ignorant what is of Divine and 
what is of human right ; I resolved, though I was then meditating cer- 
tain other matters, to transfer into this struggle all my genius and all 
the strength of my industry.'' 

This course was to lead him into controversies, but he wished it to 
be understood with what unwillingness he endured " to interrupt the 
pursuit of no less hopes than these and leave a calm and pleasing 
solitariness, fed with cheerful and confident thoughts, to embark in a 
troubled sea of noises and hoarse disputes ; put from beholding the 
bright countenance of truth in the quiet and still air of delightful 
studies to come into the dim reflection of hollow antiquities sold 
by the seeming bulk." 

Among the first acts of the new Parliament was the trial and execu- 
tion of Strafford, the impeachment and imprisonment of Laud, and 
various other proceedings that looked toward the security and perma- 
nence of their government A No essential division was manifested till 
the question arose whether the Church should be governed on an 
Episcopal or on a Presbyterian basis. Into this important contro- 
versy j^Tilton threw himself with all his energy, and within a year 
brought out five "Anti-Episcopal Pamphlets" — the first general, the 
others rejoinders to the attacks which it invited. Although these 
have no longer any interest except to the antiquarian, they contain 
magnificent specimens of impassioned and poetic prose which are 
worth study by the student of English. Shortly after, in 1642, the 
Civil War began. In this Milton took no active part, unless a curiously 
whimsical one. Once, when there seemed some danger of an assault 
upon the city, he wrote a sonnet addressed to the " Captain or Colonel, 
or Knight in Arms," who might chance to seize upon his defenceless 
doors, begging him to guard them and protect from harms the poet 
who, in return for such gentle acts, could spread his name over all the 
world. This appeal to lift not the spear against the Muses' bower, 
Milton placarded upon his outside door, but the enemy did not come to 
read it. 

Milton, however, brought the war into his own house, and in the 
same way as his own Samson. In the latter part of May, 1643, Milton 
made a mysterious journey to the neighbourhood of Oxford, where his 
ancestors had lived. This region Avas in the hands of the Royalists. 
Attached to their cause was Mr. Richard Powell, a justice of the peace, 
who had been at one time well off, and kept his own carriage. Milton's 



viii BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF JOHN MILTON. 

father had many years before loaned Powell five hundred pounds, and 
the interest on this sum was a part of Milton's regular income. Possi- 
bly he went down into Oxfordshire to make arrangements for the pay- 
ment of the principal or to inquire why the interest had stopped. He 
was gone about a month, and, to use the words of his nephew, " home 
he returns a married man that went out a bachelor.'" 

Mr. Powell was blessed with a family of eleven children. Mary, the 
eldest of the five daughters, was a little more than seventeen years old. 
It is a question whether Milton had ever known her before, but she 
VN'as made his wife on this memorable journey, Milton's own words 
implying that either he himself or the young bride felt some hesitancy 
at such a hasty consummation ; he implies that '"' the persuasion of 
friends and the argument that increasing acquaintance would amend 
all " had weight with one or both of them. 

Some of Mrs. Milton's relatives accompanied her back to London, 
and the quiet, philosophic house was given over for some days to 
" feasting in celebration of the nuptials." When the bride was at 
length left alone with a husband twice her age, the loneliness and 
incongruity of her situation probably made her mope. Milton, who 
had peculiar views of the duties of woman, could not have been at all 
sympathetic. Indeed, it is charged that he composed his famous 
treatise on divorce during that most forlorn of honeymoons ! Before 
the summer was over, she returned on a visit to her father's house, 
Milton consenting on condition that she should return to him before 
the end of September. But when the appointed time came Mrs. 
Milton came not. He sent letters and at last a messenger ; the letters 
were unanswered, the messenger brought an insulting answer. 

He had already published the first edition of his " Doctrine and 
Discipline of Divorce " ; after his wife's refusal to return, in the Febru- 
ary following, he issued a second edition. He argued that incompati- 
bility of mind or temper was equally with infidelity a full and sufficient 
ground for dissolution of the marriage bond, and that the parties, after 
divorce, were at liberty to marry again. The second edition was dedi- 
cated to Parliament and naturally, in a country where even now a man 
is not allovv^ed to marry his deceased wife's sister, caused a storm of 
indignation. He was denounced as a heretic, attacked from the pulpit, 
denounced in bitter pamphlets. He replied to some of these attacks, 
and when the Presbyterian divines made public complaint of him, he 
and his writings became the subject of a special Parliamentary investi- 
gation. 

Meantime Milton's father had been living with Christopher in Read-, 
ing, but when Reading surrendered to the Parliamentary forces in 
April, 1643, Christopher, who sympathised wdth the Royalists and 
afterwards became a Roman Catholic, broke up his establishment, and 
the elder Milton went to live with the poet. He had other additions to 
his household : a number of pupils came to take advantage of his teach- 
ing, and in September, 1645, requiring enlarged quarters, he removed 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF JOHN MILTON. ix 

to Barbican Street, two or three minutes'' walk from his former house. 
Here he hved two years, signaHsed at the very beginning by two 
important events. C)ne was the publication of his minor poems by 
Moseley and the other was the return of Mrs. Milton. Two causes 
are assigned for this reconciliation. The Civil War was practically 
terminated in favour of the Parliamentarians by the battle of Naseby in 
June, 1645. The positions of recalcitrants was disagreeable, and it is 
surmised that the fact of Milton enjoying repute in the opposite and 
triumphant party caused his wife's family to see in him a possible relief 
from their troubles. Moreover, Milton had been openly on the way 
to carrying out his heretical doctrines : he was paying his addresses to 
" a very handsome and witty gentlewoman, one of Dr. Davis's daugh- 
ters.'' Rumours of this may have reached the Powells. One day 
Milton was calling at the house of a kinsman and •' was surprised to see 
one whom he thought to have never seen more, making submission and 
begging pardon on her knees before him." Readers of "Samson," 
and the tenth book of the " Paradise Lost " will discover reminiscences 
of the dramatic scene that ensued. It ended in reconciliation. Milton 
magnanimously received to his house not only his recreant wife, but 
also her father and mother and several of their sons and daughters, the 
family having been completely ruined by the defeat of the Royalists. 
The house must have been uncomfortably crowded, for there were 
also about a dozen pupils under Milton's roof. 

Milton's daughter Anne was born July 29, 1646; six months later 
his father-in-law died, and in March, 1647, his own father died. 
Shortly after, Milton, who perhaps no longer felt the necessity upon 
him of giving so much time to teaching, dismissed his pupils and took a 
smaller house. At the same time the Powells also removed to another 
part of London where Milton helped to support tliem. As to himself, 
he says : — 

" No one ever saw me going about, no one ever saw me asking 
anything among my friends, or stationed at the doors of a Court 
with a petitioner's face. I kept myself almost entirely at home, 
managing on my own resources, though in this civil tumult they were 
often in great part kept from me, and contriving, though burdened 
with taxes in the main rather oppressive, to lead my frugal life." 

Little is known of his life during his residence at Lincoln's Inn Fields, 
High Holborn, during eighteen months. He had several projects for 
prose works, — a Latin Dictionary, a System of Divinity taken directly 
irom the Bible, and a History of England. During the prosaic work 
of collecting materials for these enterprises, stirring events were at 
hand. Charles I. was executed on the thirteenth of January, 1649. 
Milton defended this act, and in a pamphlet composed in a little more 
than a week he argued that it was lawful " for any who have the power 
to call to account a Tyrant or Wicked King, and after due conviction, 
to depose and put him to death." 

This article brought its reward. The very next month Milton was 



X BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF JOHN MILTON. 

appointed Secretary for Foreign Tongues to the Council, at a salary of 
^'yiO a year — equivalent to about $5000 now. The duties were to 
prepare, and translate into Latin, all despatches to and from foreign 
governments. In order that he might be near the scene of his labours 
he removed to Spring Gardens, and was soon afterwards provided with 
an official residence in Whitehall Palace in Scotland Yard. Shortly 
after he had occupied the seven or eight rooms of these official quarters 
the Council voted him some of the hangings of the late king for their 
decoration. 

Milton was soon called upon to employ his talents in the contro- 
versies raised by the execution of the king. First came the " Ikono- 
klastes or Image Breaker," in reply to the famous "Eikon Basilike or 
Portraiture of His Sacred Majesty in his Solitudes and Sufferings " -r- a 
book popularly supposed to be the work of the king himself, written 
during his last days, but now known to have been a forgery. It was 
immensely popular and went through at least fifty editions. Milton's 
answer to it went through only three. Then a Dutch professor, the 
learned Salmasius, published his defence of Charles I. and attack on 
the Commonwealth It was ordered by the Council of State that 
Milton should " prepare something in answer to the book of Sal- 
masius." He would gladly have abstained from this task: one eye 
had become useless and he was in danger of becoming wholly blind. 
The physicians warned him to desist, but he felt that his duty called 
him to do the work. " The choice," he says, " lay before me of a 
supreme duty and loss of eyesight ; in such a case I could not listen to 
the physician, not if Esculapius himself had spoken from his sanctuary ; 
I could not but obey that inward monitor, I know not what, that spoke 
to me from heaven." 

It is to be hoped that the heavenly voice did not impel him to the 
more than vivacious invectives with which he overwhelmed the unfortu- 
nate Salmasius. Personalities could hardly have been carried further. 
But the work was a great success and it was universally felt that the 
victory remained with Milton. Every foreigner of note then in London 
called to congratulate him. Five editions were almost immediately 
printed in Holland. Copies of the work had the honour of being 
burned or confiscated in various parts of Europe, and Milton's name 
was literally blazed through the world. 

If the reward was fame, the penalty was blindness. He had recourse 
to physicians, but with no result. The perpetual darkness to which he 
was doomed was, as he says in his quaint English, rather whitish than 
blackish, and his eyes w^ere not disfigured. He w^as not permitted to 
resign his situation. Assistants were appointed, but he was retained 
in his full title, and every day he was to be seen, led by his attendant 
from his new residence in Petty France across the Park to the meeting 
of the Council. In this case the Republic belied the proverb of grati- 
tude, but his enemies regarded his affliction as a just punishment. 

Milton wrote his sonnets to Vane and Cromwell in the spring of 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF JOHN MILTON. xi 

1652, just at the time when these two leaders were coming to an open 
rupture. Cromwell expelled Vane and fifty-two other members on 
April 20, 1653. The Commonwealth was at an end. Henceforth till 
his death, September 3, 1658, Cromwell was supreme. Milton on the 
whole approved of the dictatorship, and was therefore continued in the 
Latin secretaryship. His State letters are remarkable examples of 
clear, lucid style; one of them — that in remonstrance on the massacre 
of the Vaudois Protestants by the Duke of Savoy — has a splendid 
corollary in his greatest sonnet beginning " Avenge, O Lord, thy 
slaughtered saints.'' 

In 1654 Milton's wife died, leaving three daughters, the eldest about 
eight, the youngest an infant. The widowed poet in November, 1658, 
married Katherine Woodcock, but neither she nor her infant daughter 
long survived. Milton's sonnet to his late deceased wife implies that 
he had never seen her with his visual eyes. The same year that this 
was written he began the composition of " Paradise Lost " projected in 
dramatic form nearly thirty years before. 

During the tv>'enty-one months of Richard Cromwell's inefficient 
dictatorship Milton was still at his post and receiving his diminished 
salary of ^200 a year. But the majority of the people had declared in 
favor of the Stuarts In spite of all Milton's arguments monarchy was 
to be again the established order. Charles made his re-entry toward 
the last of May, 1660. Milton was already in hiding in Bartholomew 
Close, Smithfield For some time he was actually in danger, but while 
no severity was spared in apprehending and executing the regicides, 
Milton's case, by dexterous management in Parliament, was left in 
abeyance and finally ignored. After the twenty-ninth of August he 
was legally a free man. Nevertheless by some mistake or by malice 
he was arrested shortly after and kept for a little time in custody. 
Toward the middle of December he was ordered to be released on 
payment of fees of ^150. These being considered exorbitant were 
reduced, and Milton found a temporary refuge on the north side of 
Holborn till he secured another house in Jewin Street near one of his 
earlier habitations. Here he lived till 1664. Life must have been 
gloomy enough to the blind man : the work of twenty years seemingly 
thrown away, his friends dead or in exile, his property reduced, 
domestic trials gathering about him. 

The relations between Milton and his three daughters are not the 
least pathetic among the tribulations of his last days, but it seems as if 
he himself were mainly to blame. His views of the education of 
women were peculiar ; his oldest daughter, who was pretty though 
slightly deformed, could not even write her own name ; the others were 
taught to read to their father in foreign languages, but it was only 
mechanically, repeating words without knowing the sense. They com- 
bined with the serving maid to cheat him in the marketing ; they sold 
his books, and they made his life miserable. At last he was advised to 
marry again. He offered himself to Elizabeth Minshull, a young lady 



xii BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF JOHIST MHTON. 

of twenty-four. The marriage took place February 24, 1662-3. His 
second daughter, Mary, is reported upon oath to have said ' that it was 
no news to hear of his wedding, but if she could hear of his death that 
was something.' His third wife proved to be a blessing to him as long 
as he lived. She was pretty and had golden hair; she sang to his 
accompaniments on the organ or bass viol, and was sufficiently alive to 
his intellectual requirements as to like to talk with him about Hobbes 
and other learned men. Not long after their marriage they went to live 
in Artillery Walk, Bunhill Fields. This was his last residence, and con- 
siderable is known about the details of his domestic economy there. 
He had a man servant named Greene, who, it is said, was able to read 
aloud to him from the Hebrew Bible. His chief recreations were walk- 
ing in his garden, swinging in a chair, and making music. Andrew 
Marvell, Cyriack Skinner, and other distinguished men used often to 
visit him. He is reported as having been " extremely pleasant in con- 
versation . . . though satirical." 

" Paradise Lost" was completed by 1663 and revised during the sum- 
mer of 1665, while, in order to escape from the plague that was then 
devastating London, he went with his wife and his three daughters 
to Chalfont St. Giles in Buckinghamshire. His friend Elwood, the 
Quaker, lived near there, and to him Milton loaned a copy of the great 
poem. The Quaker approved of it, but suggested that he had said 
much of Paradise Lost but nothing of Paradise Found. This sug- 
gestion resulted in the shorter epic. The next year — that of Dryden's 
Annus Mirabilis — the great fire still further abridged his fortunes by 
destroying the house in which he had been born and which he still 
owned. A few years later his comfort and that of his household was 
increased by the departure of his daughters, who were sent out to learn 
embroidery for their own support. 

After the publication of his great epic visitors were frequent, and we 
have several descriptions of his appearance, both as he sat out of doors 
on his porch and as he was indoors, in a room hung with rusty green, 
" sitting in an elbow chair, black clothes and neat enough, pale but not 
cadaverous, his hands and fingers gouty and with chalk stones " ; his 
habits at table were abstemious, but his later days were troubled 
by gout. His last poem was the perfect Greek tragedy " Samson 
Agonistes," which has an interesting autobiographic import. This was 
vv^ritten in 167 1. Three years later "the gout struck in," and he died 
on November 8, 1674, and was buried beside his father in the Church 
of St. Giles, Cripplegate. All his learned and great friends in London, 
and a "^ friendly concourse of the vulgar," attended the funeral. Milton 
had intended to cut off his " unkind " and " undutiful " children with 
only that portion of his estate that was due it from the Powells, but 
they contested the nuncupative will and received as their share of their 
father's estate about ^100 each, while the widow was left with a 
pittance of ;^6oo. She retired to her native Cheshire, and died in 
1727, having survived her husband nearly fifty-three years. Among 



BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF JOHN MHTON. xiii 

her effects were copies of his " Paradise Lost and Regained " and two 
juvenile portraits. Mary, the younger daughter, died the same year, 
having married a weaver or silk mercer named Clark, by whom she had 
ten children, only two of whom survived her to have issue. 

The collections made by Milton toward his Latin dictionary have 
been embodied in later dictionaries. Several of his prose writings 
were discovered long after his death. In one of them — a Latin treatise 
on Christian Doctrine which he claims to be founded directly on the 
Bible — he boldly advanced many theories at variance with the beliefs 
of the Church — perhaps the most shocking being his arguments in 
favour of polygamy. 

No one can study Milton's life without winning a deep respect and 
even admiration for the man. To him, duty — '■' stern daughter of the 
voice of God " — was ever paramount. Unflinchingly he sacrificed his 
inclinations and his pleasures in order to take the place whereto he 
was called in the Councils of the State. If ever a man was anointed 
by the Muses it was Milton ; yet, conscious as he was of his poetic 
powers, he threw himself heart and soul into the gross battle of politics, 
and for twenty of the richest years of his life allowed his cherished 
schemes to slumber. As a man, therefore, he is worthy of reverence, 
even though we may not entirely sympathise with some of his views or 
actions. 

As a poet he takes rank among the few whom all the world recognises 
as greatest, — Homer, Vergil, Dante, Chaucer, Shakspere. His deli- 
cate musical ear taught him to modulate his numbers with a skill 
unknown to any other English poet. Well has he been called '' that 
mighty arc of song — the divine Milton.'" As Wordsworth says, the 
sonnet in his hand " became a trumpet whence he blew soul-animating 
strains *' ; his minor poems are marvels of elegance and grace, but by 
his '• Paradise Lost '' he made himself as it were the prophet of English 
theology, the work supplementing the Bible in the beliefs of many, and 
strongly colouring the popular conception of Satan and the fall of man. 
But aside from its theological import, it is by the grandeur of theme 
and dignity of treatment almost superhuman — a work of which all who 
speak the English tongue will be forever proud. 

N. II. D. 



INTRODUCTION 
TO PARADISE LOST. 

I. EARLIEST EDITIONS OF THE POE.M. 

It was possibly just before the Great Fire of London in September, 1666, 
and it certainly cannot have been very long after that event, when Milton, then 
residing in Artillery Walk, Bunhill Fields, sent the manuscript of his Paradise 
Lost to receive the official licence necessary for its publication. The duty of 
licensing such books was then vested by law in the Archbishop of Canter- 
bury, who performed it through his chaplains. The Archbishop of Canterbury 
at that time (1663- 167 7) was Dr. Gilbert Sheldon; and the chaplain to whom 
it fell to examine the manuscript of Paradise Lost was the Rev. Thomas Tom- 
kyns, M.A. of Oxford, then incumbent of St. Mary Aldermary, London, and 
afterwards Rector of Lambeth and D. D. He was the Archbishop's domestic 
chaplain, and a very great favourite of his — quite a young man, but already the 
author of one or two books or ^mphlets. The nature of his opinions may 
be guessed from the fact that his first publication, printed in the year of the 
Restoration, had been entitled " The Rebel's Plea Examined; or, Mr. Bax- 
ter's Judgment concerning the Late War.-" A subsequent pubHcation of his, 
penned not long after he had examined Paradise Lost, was entitled " The In- 
conveniences of Toleration; " and, when he died in 1675, still young, he was 
described on his tomb-stone as having been " Ecdesice A7iglicancc contra 
Schismaticos assertor eximius.'" A manuscript by a man of Milton's politi- 
cal and ecclesiastical antecedents could hardly, one would think, have fallen 
into the hands of a more unpropitious examiner. It is, accordingly, stated 
that Tomkyns hesitated about giving the licence, and took exception to some 
passages in the poem — particularly to that (Book I. vv. 594 — 599) where it 
is said of Satan in his diminished brightness after his fall, that he still appeared 

" as when the Sun, new-risen, 
Looks through the horizontal misty air 
Shorn of his beams, or, from behind a cloud, 
In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds 
On half the nations, and with fear of change 
Perplexes monarchs," 



INTRODUCTION TO PARADISE LOST. 



At length, however, Mr. Tomkyns was satisfied. There still exists the first 
book of the actual manuscript which had been submitted to him.* It is a 
fairly written copy, in a light, not inelegant, but rather characterless hand of 
the period— -of course, not that of Milton himself, who had been for fourteen 
years totally blind. It consists of eighteen leaves of small quarto, stitched 
together; and on the inside of the first leaf, or cover, is the following official 
licence to print m Tomkyns's hand : — 

Imprimatur: TJio. Tovikyiis, Rmo. in Christo Patri ac Dotnino, Dno. Gilberto, diviud 
ProvidentiA Archiepiscoj^o CanUiariensi, a sacris Domesticis. 

The other books of the manuscript having received a similar certificate, or 
this certificate on the MS. of the first book sufficing for all, the copy was ready 
for publication by any printer or bookseller to whom Milton might consign 
it. Having already had many dealings with I>ondon printers and booksellers, 
Milton may have had several to whom he could go; but the one whom he 
favoured in this case, or who favoured him, was a certain Samuel Simmons, hav- 
ing his shop " next door to the Golden Lion in Aldersgate Street." The date 
of the transaction between Simmons and Milton is April 27, 1667. On that 
day an agreement was signed between them to the following effect : — Milton, 
" in consideration of Five Pounds to him now paid," gives, grants, and assigns 
to Simmons " all that Book, Copy, or Manuscript of a Poem intituled Para- 
" dise Lost, or by whatsoever other title or name the same is or shall be called 
"or distinguished, now lately licensed to be printed;" on the understanding, 
however, that, at the end of the first impression of the Book — " which im- 
" pression shall be accounted to be ended when thirteen hundred books of the 
"said whole copy, or manuscript imprinted shall be sold or retailed off to par- 
" ticular reading customers" — Simmons shall pay to Milton or his representa- 
tives a second sum of Five Pounds; and further that he shall pay a third sum 
of Five Pounds at the end of a second impression of the same number of 
copies, and a fourth sum of Five Pounds at the end of a third impression 
similarly measured. To allow a margin for presentation copies, we suppose, it 
is provided that, while in the account between Milton and Simmons each of 
the three first impressions is to be reckoned at 1,300 copies, in the actual print- 
ing of each Simmons may go as high as 1,500 copies. At any reasonable re- 
quest of Milton or his representatives, Simmons, or his executors and assigns, 
shall be bound to make oath before a Master in Chancery " concerning his or 
*' their knowledge and belief of, or concerning the truth of, the disposing and 
" selling the said books by retail as aforesaid whereby the said Mr. Milton is to 
" be entitled to his said money from time to time," or, in default of said oath, 
to pay the Five Pounds pending on the current impression as if the same were 
due.f 

* The manuscript is described and a facsimile of a portion of it is given, in Mr. S. Leigh 
Sotheby's "Ramblings in elucidation of the Autograph of Milton," 1861: pp. 196, 197. It 
was then in the possession of William Baker, Esq. of Bayfordbury, Hertfordshire, to whom it 
had descended, with other Milton relics, from the famous publishing family of the Tonsons, 
connected with him by ancestry. 

t The original of this document — or rather that one of the two originals which Simmons 
kept — is now in the British Museum. To the poet's signature "John Milton" (which, 
however, is written for him by another hand) is annexed his seal, bearing the family arms of 
the double-headed eagle; and the witnesses are " John Fisher" and " Benj unia Greene, scrvt. 
to Mr. Milton." 



INTRODUCTION TO PARADISE LOST. 



It has been inferred from the wording of this document that Milton, before 
his bargain with Simmons, may have begun the printing of the poem at his 
own expense. There seems no real ground, however, for thinking so, or that 
what was handed over to Simmons was anything else than the fairly copied 
manuscript which had received the inipritnatiir of Mr. Tomkyns. With that 
imprimatur Simmons might proceed safely in printing the book and bringing 
it into the market. Accordingly, on the 20th of August, 1667, or four months 
after the foregoing agreement, we find this entry in the books of Stationers' 
Hall : — 

August 20, 1667: Mr. Sam. Symons entered for his copie, under the hands of Mr. Thomas 
Tomkyns and Mr. Warden Royston, a book or copie intituled " Paradise Lost, a Poem in 
Tenne bookes by J. M." 

The date of the above entry in the Stationers' registers fixes the time about 
which printed copies of the Poem were ready for sale in London. There are 
few books, however, respecting the circumstances of whose first publication 
there is room for a greater variety of curious questions. This arises from the 
fact that, among the numerous existing copies of the First Edition, no two are 
in all particulars exactly alike. They differ in their title-pages, in their dates, 
and in minute points throughout the text. There is involved in this, indeed, a 
fact of general interest to English bibliographers. In the old days of leisurely 
printing, it was quite common for the printer or the author of a book to make 
additional corrections while the printing was in progress — of which corrections 
only part of the total impression would have the benefit. Then, as, in the 
binding of the copies, all the sheets, having or not having the corrections so 
made, were jumbled together, there was no end to the combinations of dif- 
ferent states of sheets that might arise in copies all really belonging to one 
edition 1 besides which, if any change in the proprietorship, or in the author's 
or publisher's notions of the proper title, arose before all the copies had been 
bound, it was easy to cancel the first title-page and provide a new one, with 
a new date if necessary, for the remaining copies. The probability is that 
these considerations will be found to affect all our early printed books. But 
they are applicable in a more than usual degree, so far as differences of title- 
page are concerned, to the First Edition of Paradise Lost. Here, for example, 
is a conspectus of the different forms of title-page and other accompaniments 
of the text of the Poem that have been recognised among existing copies of the 
First Edition. We arrange them, as nearly as can be judged, in the order 
in which they were issued. 

First title-page. — " Paradise lost. A Poem written in Ten Books By John Milton. 
Licensed and Entred according to Order. London Printed, and are to be sold by Peter 
Parker under Creed Church neer Aldgate; And by Robert Boulter at the Turks Head in 
Bishopsgate-street; And Matthias Walker under St. Dunstons Church in Fleet-street. 1667." 
4to. pp. 342. 

Second title-page. — Same as above, except that the author's name "John Milton" is in 
larger type. 1667. 4to. pp. 342. 

Third title-page. — " Paradise lost. A Poem in Ten Books. The Author J. M. [initials 
only]. Licensed and Entred according to Order. London Printed &c. [as before, or nearly 
so]. 1668. 4to. pp. 342. 

Fourth title-page. — Same as the preceding, but the type in the body of the title larger. 
1668. 4to. pp. 342. 

Fifth title-page. — " Paradise lost. A Poem in Ten Books. The Author John Milton. 
London, Printed by S. Simmons, and to be sold by S. Thomson at the Bishops-Head in 
Duck-lane, H. Mortlack at the White Hart in Westminster Hall, M. Walker under St. 



INTRODUCTION TO PARADISE LOST. 



Dunstons Church in Fleet-street, and R. Boulter at the Turks-Head in Bishopsgate-street. 
1668." 4to. pp. 356. The most notable peculiarity in this issue as compared with its prede- 
cessors is the increase of the bulk of the volume by fourteen pages or seven leaves. This is 
accounted for as follows: — In the preceding issues there had been no Prose Argument, Preface, 
or other preliminary matter to the text of the poem; but in this there are fourteen pages of 
new matter interpolated between the title-leaf and the poem. First of all there is this three- 
line advertisement: "The Printer to the Reader. Courteous Reader, There was no Argu- 
" ment at first intended to the Book, but for the satisfaction of many that have desired it, is 
" procured. S. Simmons" Then, accordingly, there follow the prose Arguments to the 
several Books, doubtless by Milton himself, all printed together in eleven pages; after which, 
in two pages of large open type, comes Milton's preface, entitled " The Verse," explaining his 
reasons for abandoning Rime — succeeded on the fourteenth page by a list of" Errata." But 
this is not all. Simmons's three-line Address to the Reader, as given above, is, it will be ob- 
served, not grammatically correct; and, whether because Milton had found out this or not, 
there are some copies, with this fifth title-page, in which the ungrammatical three-line Address 
is corrected into ?i five-line Address thus — " The Printer to the Reader. Courteous Reader, 
" There was no Argument at first intended to the Book, but for the satisfaction of many that 
" have desired it, I have procur'd it, and withall a reason of that which stumbled many others, 
*' why the Poem Rimes not. S. Simmons." 

Sixth title-page. — Same as the preceding, except that instead of four lines of stars under 
the author's name there is a fleur-de-lis ornament. 1668. 4to, pp. 356. Here we have the same 
preliminary matter as in the preceding. There seem to be some copies, however, with the 
incorrect three-line Address, and others with the corrcci yi7'e-li>ie Address, of the Printer. 

Seventh title-page. — " Paradise lost. A Poem in Ten Books. The Author John Milton. 
London, Printed by S. Simmons, and are to be sold by. T. Helder, at the Angel, in Little- 
Brittain, 1669." 4to. pp. 356. Some copies with this title-page still retain Simmons's incorrect 
three-line Address to the Reader, while others have the Jive-line Address. Rest of pre- 
liminary matter as before. 

Eighth and Ninth title-pages, — Same as last, except some insignificant changes of capital 
letters and of pointing in the words of the title, 1669. 4to. pp. 356. 

Here are at least nine distinct forms in which, as respects the title-page, 
complete copies were issued by the binder, from the first publication of the 
work about August 1667 on to 1669 inclusively; besides which there are the 
variations among individual copies arising from the two forms of the Printer's 
Advertisement, and the variations in the text of the poem arising from the in- 
discriminate binding together of sheets in the different states of correctness in 
which they were printed off. The variations of this last class are of absolutely 
no moment — a comma in some copies where others have it not; an error in the 
numbering of the lines, or of a with for an in in some copies rectified in 
others, &c. On the whole, the text of any existing copy of the First Edition is 
as perfect as that of any other — though there is an advantage in having a copy 
with the small list of Errata and the other preliminary matter. But the vari- 
ations in the title-page are of greater interest. Why is the author's name 
given in full in the title-pages of 1667, then contracted into " J. M." in two of 
those of 1668, and again given in full in two of those of the same year, and 
in all those of 1669? And why, though Simmons had acquired the copyright 
in April 1667, and had entered the copyright as his in the Stationers' Books in 
August 1667, is his name kept out of sight in all the title-pages prior to that 
one of 1668 which is given as the Fifth in the foregoing list, and which is the 
first with the preliminary matter — the preceding title-pages showing no printer's 
name, but only the names of three booksellers at whose shops copies might be 
had? Finally, why, after Simmons does think it right to appear on the title- 
page, are there changes in the names of the booksellers — two of the former 
booksellers first disappearing and giving way to other two, and then the three 
of 1668 giving way in 1669 to the single bookseller, Helder of Little Britain? 
Very probably in some of these changes nothing more was involved than 



INTRODUCTION TO PARADISE LOST. 



convenience to Simmons in his circumstances at the time. Not impossibly, 
however, more was involved than this in so much tossing-about of the book 
within so short a period. May not Simmons have been a little timid about 
his venture in publishing a book by the notorious Milton, whose attacks on the 
Church and defences of the execution of Charles I. were still fresh in the mem- 
ory of all, and some of whose pamphlets had been publicly burned by the hang- 
man after the Restoration? May not his entering the book at Stationers' Hall 
simply as " a Poem in Ten Books by J. M." have been a caution on his part; 
and, though, in the first issues, he had ventured on the name "John Milton" 
in full, may he not have found or thought it advisable, for a subsequent circu- 
lation in some quarters, to have copies with only the milder " J. M." upon 
them? 

In any case, the first edition of Paradise Lost was a most creditably printed 
book. It is, as has been mentioned, a small quarto — of 342 pages in such 
copies as are without the "Argument " and other preliminary matter, and of 
356 pages in the copies that have this addition. But the pages are not num- 
bered — only the lines by tens along the margin in each Book. In one or two 
places there is an error in the numbering of the lines, arising from miscounting. 
The text in each page is enclosed within lines — single lines at the inner mar- 
gin and bottom, but double hues at the top for the running title and the num- 
ber of the Book, and along the outer margin columnwise for the numbering of 
the lines. Very great care must have been bestowed on the reading of the 
proofs, either by Milton himself, or by some competent person who had under- 
taken to see the book through the press for him. It seems likely that Milton 
himself caused page after page to be read over slowly to him, and occasionally 
even the words to be spelt out. There are, at all events, certain systematic 
peculiarities of spelling and punctuation which it seems most reasonable to 
attribute to Milton's own instructions. Altogether, for a book printed in such 
circumstances, it is wonderfully accurate; and, in all the particulars of type, 
paper, and general getting-up, the first appearance of Paradise Lost must have 
been rather attractive than otherwise to book-buyers of that day. 

The selHng-price of the volume was three shillings — which is perhaps as if 
a similar book now were published at about 105. 6c/. From the retail-sale of 
1,300 copies, therefore, the sum that would come in to Simmons, if we make 
an allowance for trade-deductions at about the modern rate, would be some- 
thing under 140/. Out of this had to be paid the expenses of printing, &c., 
and the sum agreed upon with the author; and the balance would be Sim- 
mons's profit. On the whole, though he cannot have made anything extraor- 
dinary by the transaction, it must have been sufficiently remunerative. For, by 
the 26th of April 1669, or after the poem had been published a httle over 
eighteen months, the stipulated impression of 1,300 copies had been exhausted. 
The proof exists in the shape of Milton's receipt (signed for him by another 
hand) for the additional Five Pounds due to him on that contingency : — 

April 26, 1669. 
Received then of Samuel Simmons five pounds, being the Second five pounds to be paid 
mentioned in the Covenant. I say reed, by me. 

John Milton. 

Witness, Edmund Upton. 

Thus, by the month of April 1669, Milton had received in all Ten Pounds 
for his Paradise Lost. This was all that he was to receive for it in his life. 



INTRODUCTION TO PARADISE LOST. 



For, contrary to what might have been expected after a sale of the first edition 
in eighteen months, there was no second edition for five years more, or till 
1674. Either the book was out of print for these five years, or what demand 
for it there continued to be was supplied out of the surplus of 200 copies which, 
for some reason or other, Simmons had been authorized to print beyond the 
1,300. But in 1674 — the last year of Milton's life — a second edition did ap- 
pear, with the following title : — 

" Paradise Lost. A Poem in Twelve Books. The Author John Milton. The Second Edition 
Revised and Augmented by the same Author. London, Printed by S. Simmons next door to 
the Golden Lion in Aldersgate-street, 1674." 

This edition is in small octavo, with the pages numbered, but with no mar- 
ginal numbering of the lines — the pages of the text as numbered being 333. 
There are prefixed two sets of commendatory verses — the one in Latin signed 
" S. B.y M. D.," and written by a certain Samuel Barrow, a physician and a 
private friend of Milton; the other in English, signed ''A. J/.," and written 
by Andrew Marvel. But the most important difference between this and the 
previous edition is that, whereas the poem had been arranged in Ten Books in 
the first, it is here arranged in Twelve. This is accomplished by dividing what 
had formerly been the two longest Books of the poem — Books VII. and X. — 
into two Books each. There is a corresponding division in the " Arguments " 
of these Books; and the "Arguments," instead of being given in a body at 
the beginning, are prefixed to the Books to which they severally apply. To 
smooth over the breaks made by the division of the two Books, the three new 
lines were added which now form the beginning of Book VIII. and the five 
that begin Book XII.; and there are one or two other slight additions or alter- 
ations, also dictated by Milton, in the course of the text, besides a few verbal 
variations, such as would arise in reprinting. On the whole the Second Edition, 
though very correct, is not so nice-looking a book as the First. 

Four years sufficed to exhaust the Second Edition; and in 1678 {i.e. four 
years after Milton's death) a Third Edition appeared with this title : " Para- 
dise Lost. A Poem in Twelve Books. The Autlior John Milton. The Third 
Edition. Revised and Augmented by the same Author. London, Printed by 
S. Simmons, next door to the Golden Lion in Alder sgate Street., 1678." This 
edition is in small octavo, and in other respects the same as its predecessor, 
save that there are a few verbal variations in the printing. It is of no indepen- 
dent value — the Second Edition being the last that could have been supervised 
by Milton himself. From the appearance of a third edition in 1678, however, 
it is to be inferred that by that time the second of those impressions of 1,300 
copies which had to be accounted for to the author was sold off (implying per- 
haps a total circulation up to that time of 3,000 copies), and that, consequently, 
had the author been alive, he would have been then entitled to his third sum of 
Five Pounds, as by the agreement. Milton being dead, the sum was due to his 
widow. Whether, however, on account of disputes which existed between the 
widow and Milton's three daughters by his first wife as to the inheritance of 
his property (disputes which were the subject of a law-suit in 1674-5), or for 
other reasons, Simmons was in no hurry to pay the third Five Pounds. It was 
not till the end of 1680 that he settled with the widow, and then in a manner 
of which the following receipt given by her is a record : — 



INTRODUCTION TO PARADISE LOST. 



I do hereby acknowledge to have received of Samuel Symonds, Cittizen and Stationer of 
London, the Sum of Eight pounds: which is in full payment for all my right, Title, or Interest, 
which I have, or ever had in the Coppy of a Poem Intitled Paradise Lost in Twelve feookes 
in 8vo. By John Milton, Gent., my late husband. Witness my hand this 21st day of 
December, 1680. 

Elizabeth Milton. 
Witness, William Yapp. 
Ann Yapp. 

That is to say, Simmons, owing the widow Five Pounds, due since 1678, 
and in prospect of soon owing her other Five Pounds on the current impression 
of the Poem, preferred, or consented, to compound for the Ten by a payment 
of Eight in December 1680. The total sum which he could in any case have 
been called upon to pay for Paradise Lost by his original agreement was 20/. 
(for the agreement did not look- beyond three impressions of 1,300 copies 
each) ; and the total sum which he did pay was 18/. If he thus got off 2.1. it 
was probably to oblige the widow, who may have been anxious to realize all 
she could of her late husband's property at once before leaving town. There 
is, indeed, a subsequent document from which it would appear as if Simmons 
feared having farther trouble from the widow. It is a document, dated April 
29, 1 68 1, by which she formally releases Samuel Simmons, his heirs, executors, 
and administrators for ever, from " all and all manner of action and actions, 
" cause and causes of action, suits, bills, bonds, writings obligatory, debts, 
" dues, duties, accounts, sum and sums of moneys, judgments, executions, 
" extents, quarrels either in law or equity, controversies and demands, and all 
" and every other matter, cause, and thing whatsoever, which against the said 
" Samuel Simmons " she ever had, or which she, her heirs, executors, or ad- 
ministrators should or might have " by reason or means of any matter, cause, 
*' or thing whatsoever, from the beginning of the world unto the day of these 
'* presents." About the most comprehensive release possible ! 

From 1680, accordingly, neither Milton's widow, nor his daughters, had any 
share or interest whatever in the sale of Paradise Lost. The sole property in 
it was vested in the printer Simmons. Nor did he keep it long. Shortly after 
his last agreement with the widow he transferred his entire interest in the poem 
to another bookseller, Brabazon Aylmer, for twenty-five pounds. But on the 
17th of August, 1683, Aylmer sold half of his right at a considerably advanced 
price to the famous bookseller, Jacob Tonson, who had begun business in 
1677, and was already introducing a new era in the book-trade by his dealings 
with Dryden and others; and in March, 1690, Tonson bought the other half of 
the copyright. What are called the fourth, fifth, and sixth editions, accord- 
ingly, were all issued by Tonson. The fourth was issued in 1688, in folio, 
with a portrait by White, and other illustrations, and a list of more than 
500 subscribers, including the most eminent persons of the day — some copies 
including Paradise Regained and Sajiison Agonistes, and having the general 
title uf Milton's Poetical Works. The fifth appeared in 1692, also in folio; 
and with Paradise 7?^^rt;z«^^ appended. The sixth was published in 1695, ^^^^ 
in large folio and with illustrations, both separately, and also bound up with all 
the rest of the poems under the general title of " The Poetical Works of Mr. 
John Milton." This edition was accompanied by what is in reality the first 
commentary on the poem, and also one of the best. It consists of no fewer 
than 321 folio pages of Annotations, under this title, *' Annotations on Milton's 
" Paradise Lost : wherein the texts of Sacred Writ relating to the Poem are 



"quoted; the parallel places and imitations of the most excellent Homer and 
" Virgil cited and compared ; all the obscure parts rendered in phrases more 
"familiar; the old and obsolete words, with their originals, explain'd and 
"made easy to the English reader. By P. H., ^tXoTroiTjrTjs." The " P, H." 
who thus led the way, so largely, carefully, and laboriously, in the work of 
commentating Milton, was Patrick Hume, a Scotsman, of whom nothing more 
has been ascertained than that he was then settled as a schoolmaster some- 
where near London. 

A common statement is that it was Addison's celebrated series of criticisms 
on Paradise Lost in the Spectator, during the years 1711 and I7i2f'that first 
awoke people to Milton's greatness as a poet, and that till then he had been 
neglected. The statement will not bear investigation. Not only had six 
editions of the Paradise Lost been published before the close of the seven- 
teenth century — three of them splendid folio editions, and one of them with 
a commentary which was in itself a tribute to the extraordinary renown of the 
poem; and not only before or shortly after Milton's death had there been 
such public expressions of admiration for the poem by Dryden and others as 
were equivalent to its recognition as one of the sublimest works of English 
genius; but since the year 1688 these emphatic, if not very discriminating 
lines, of Dryden, printed by way of motto under Milton's portrait in Tonson's 
edition of that year, had been a familiar quotation in all men's mouths : — 

" Three Poets in three distant ages born, 
Greece, Italy, and England did adorn. 
The first in loftiness of mind surpassed; 
The next in majesty; in both the last. 
The force of nature could no further go; 
To make a third she joined the former two." 

Even before these lines were written the habit of comparing Milton with 
Homer and Virgil, and of wondering whether the highest greatness might not 
be claimed for the Englishman, had been fully formed. Addison's criticisms, 
therefore, were only a contribution to a reputation already become traditional. 
Three new editions of the Paradise Lost, by itself or otherwise, had been 
published by Tonson before the appearance of these criticisms — to wit, in 
1705, 1707, and 171 1; after which Addison's criticisms may have given an 
impulse to the sale, visible in the rapid multiplication of subsequent editions. 

The Tonson family had an undisturbed monopoly of these editions, and 
indeed of all Milton's poetry, till as late as the year 1750. Every one of the 
numerous editions, in different sizes and forms, published in Great Britain down 
to that year, bears the name of the Tonson iirm on the title-page. This was 
owing to the state of opinion as to copyright in books. In Great Britain the 
understanding in the book-trade was that a publisher who had once acquired a 
book had a perpetual property in it. The understanding did not extend to Ire- 
land; and accordingly there had been three Dublin editions of Paradise Lost — 
in 1724, 1747, and 1748 respectively. But about 1750 the understanding broke 
down in Great Britain as well — being found inconsistent with the Copyright 
Act of Queen Anne, passed in 1709; and, accordingly, from 1750 onwards 
we find London and Edinburgh publishers venturing to put forth editions of 
Milton to compete with those of the Tonsons. Not, however, till the death, 



INTRODUCTION TO PARADISE LOST 



in 1767, of Jacob Tonson tertius, the grand-nephew of the original Tonson, 
and the last of the famous firm, was the long connexion of the name of 
Tonson with Milton's poetry broken, and the traffic in Milton's poems really- 
thrown open. From that date to the present the number of editions of 
Paradise Lost, and of Milton's other poems, by different publishers, and in 
different fashions, is all but past reckoning. 



II. ORIGIN OF THE POEM AND HISTORY OF ITS COMPOSITION. 

A great deal has been written concerning " the origin " of Paradise Lost. 

Voltaire, in 1727, suggested that Milton had, while in Italy in 1638-9, seen 
performed there a Scriptural drama, entitled Adaino, written by a certain 
Giovanni Battista Andreini, and that, '* piercing through the absurdity of the 
performance to the hidden majesty of the subject," he " took from that ridic- 
ulous trifle the first hint of the noblest work which the human imagination 
has ever attempted." The Andreini thus recalled to notice was the son of 
an Italian actress, and was known in Italy and also in France as a writer of 
comedies and religious poems, and also of some defences of the drama. He 
was born in 1578, and, as he did not die till 1652, he may have l^een of some 
reputation in Italy as a living author at the time of Milton's visit. His Adaino, 
of which special mention is made, was published at Milan in 1 61 3, again at 
Milan in 1617; and there was a third edition of it at Perugia in 164 1. It is a 
drama in Italian verse, in five Acts, representing the Fall of Man. Among 
the characters, besides Adam and Eve, are God the Father, the Archangel 
Michael, Lucifer, Satan, Beelzebub, the Serpent, and various allegoric person- 
ages, such as the Seven Mortal Sins, the World, the Flesh, Famine, Despair, 
Death; and there are also choruses of Seraphim, Cherubim, Angels, Phan- 
toms, and Infernal Spirits. From specimens which have been given, it appears 
that the play, though absurd enough on the whole to justify the way in which 
Voltaire speaks of it, is not destitute of vivacity and other merits, and that, if 
Milton did read it, or see it performed, he may have retained a pretty strong 
recollection of it. 

The hint that Milton might have been indebted for the first idea of his poem 
to Andreini opened up one of those literary questions in which ferrets among 
old books and critics of more ingenuity than judgment delight to lose them- 
selves. In various quarters hypotheses were started as to particular authors to 
whom, in addition to Andreini, Milton might have been indebted for this or 
that in his Paradise Lost. The notorious William Lauder gave an impulse to 
the question by his publications, from 1746 to 1755, openly accusing Milton 
of plagiarism; and, though the controversy in the form in which Lauder had 
raised it ended with the exposure of his forgeries, the so-called " Inquiry into 
the Origin of Paradise Lost" has continued to occupy to this day critics of a 
very different stamp from Lauder, and writing in a very different spirit. The 
result has been that some thirty authors have been cited, as entitled, along with 
Andreini or apart from him, to the credit of having probably or possibly coii- 
tributed something to the conception, the plan, or the execution of Milton's 
great poem. Quite recently, for example, a claim has been advanced for the 
Dutch poet, Joost van den Vondel (1587— 1679), one of whose productions — a 



tragedy called ^^ Lucifer^'' acted at Amsterdam, and published in 1654 — de- 
scribes the rebellion of the Angels, and otherwise goes over much of the 
ground of Paradise Lost. Milton, it is argued, must have heard of this tragedy 
before he began his own Epic, and may have known Dutch sufficiently to read 
it. Then there was the somewhat older Dutch poet, Jacob Cats (1577 — 1660), 
one of whose poems, describing Adam and Eve in Paradise, might have been 
known to Milton, even though he could not read Dutch, as it had been trans- 
lated into Latin by Caspar Barlreus, and published at Dordrecht in 1643. Nor, 
if Vondel and Cats remained unknown to Milton, was it possible that he 
should not be familiar with Adanms Exid, a Latin tragedy by the famous Hugo 
Grotius, the most learned Dutchman of his age, and whom Milton himself had 
met in Paris. This poem of Grotius, the work of his youth, had been before 
the world since 1601. But not from Dutch sources only is Milton supposed to 
have derived hints. May he not have seen the following Latin works by 
German authors — the Belliim Angelicum of Frederic Taubmann, of which two 
books and a fragment appeared in 1604; the D(^monomachia of Odoric Val- 
marana, published in Vienna in 1627; and the Sarcotis of the Jesuit Jacobus 
Masenius, three books of which were published at Cologne in 1644? Among 
possible Italian sources of help, better known or less known than Andreini's 
Adamo, there have been picked out the following — Antonio Cornozano, 
Discorso in Versi della Creazione del Mondo si no alia Venula di Gesii Crista, 
1472; Antonio Alfani, La Battaglia Celeste tra Michele e Ltuifero, 1568; 
Erasmo di Valvasone, Angelada, 1590; Giovanni Soranzo, DelV Adajno, 1604; 
Amico Anguifilo, // Caso di Lucifero ; Tasso, Le Sette Gi ornate del Mondo 
^ Creato, 1607; Gasparo Murtola, Della Creazione del Mondo: Poenia Sacra, 
^ 1608; Felice Passero, Epainerone; overo, H Opere de sei Giorni, 1609; Marini, 
Strage degli Lnnocenti, 1633, and also his Gerusalemme Distriitta; Troilo 
Lancetta, La Scena Tragica d' Adamo ed Eva, 1644; Serafino della Salandra, 
Adamo Caduto : Trag. Sacra, 1647. A Spanish poet has been procured for 
the list in Alonzo de Azevedo, the author of a Creadon del Mnndo, published 
in 1615; and a similar poem of the Portuguese Camoens, published in the 
same year, has also been referred to. Finally, reference has been made to the 
Lacustce of the Englishman Phineas Fletcher, a poem in Latin Hexameters 
published at Cambridge in 1627, and to certain Poemata Sacra of the Scottish 
Latinist, Andrew Ramsay, published at Edinburgh in 1633; as well as, more 
in detail, to Joshua Sylvester's English translation of the Divine Weeks and 
Works of Du Bartas, originally published in 1605, and thenceforward for 
nearly half a century one of the most popular books in England, and to the 
Scriptural Paraphrases of the old Anglo-Saxon poet Csedmon, first edited and 
made accessible in 1655. 

What is to be said of all this? For the most part it is laborious nonsense. 
That Milton knew most of the books mentioned, and, indeed, a great many 
more of the same sort, is extremely likely; that Sylvester's Du Bartas had been 
familiar to him from his childhood is quite certain; that recollections of this 
book and some of the others are to be traced in the Paradise I^ost seems dis- 
tinctly to have been proved; but that in any of the books, or in all of them 
together, there is to be found " the origin of Paradise Lost," in any intelligible 
sense of the phrase, is utterly preposterous. Indeed, some of the books have 
been cited less from any knowledge of their contents than from confidence in 
their titles as casually seen in book-catalogues. 



INTRODUCTION TO PARADISE LOST. 



One conclusion, pertinent to the subject, which might have been suggested 
by the mere titles of so many books, appears to have been missed. The sub- 
ject of Paradise Lost, it would seem, if only on the bibliographical evidence so 
collected, was one of those which already possessed in a marked degree that 
quality of hereditary and widely diffused interest which fits subjects for the 
purposes of great poets, Milton, it may be said, inherited it as a subject with 
which the imagination of Christendom had long been fascinated, and which 
had been nibbled at again and again by poets in and out of England, though 
by none managed to its complete capabilities. There are traces in his juvenile 
poems — as, for example, in his Latin poem In Qidntuni Novonhris — of his 
very early familiarity, in particular, with some of those conceptions of the per- 
sonality and agency of Satan, and the physical connexion between Hell and 
Man's World, which may be said to motive his great epic. Nothing is more 
certain, however, than that, though thus signalled in the direction of his great 
subject by early presentiments and experiments, he came to the actual choice 
of it at last through considerable deliberation. The story of the first concep- 
tion of Paradise Lost, and of the long-deferred execution of the project, is one 
of the most interesting in the life of Milton. 

It was in 1639, after his return from his Italian tour, in his thirty-first year, 
that Milton, as he tells us, first bethought himself seriously of some great liter- 
ary work, on a scale commensurate with his powers, and which posterity should 
not willingly let die. He had resolved that it should be an English poem; he 
had resolved that it should be an epic; nay, he had all but resolved — as is 
proved by his Latin poem to Manso, and his Epitaphiiim Dainojiis — that his 
subject should be taken from the legendary history of Britain, and should, ■?*' 
include the romance of Arthur and his Knights of the Round Table. Sud- 
denly, however, this decision was shaken. He became uncertain whether the 
dramatic form might not be fitter for his purpose than the epic, and, letting go 
the subject of Arthur, he began to look about for other subjects. The proof 
exists in the form of a list — written by Milton's own hand in 1640-1, or cer- 
tainly not later than 1642, and preserved among the Milton MSS. in Trinity 
College, Cambridge — of about one hundred subjects, many of them Scriptural, 
and the rest from British History, which he had jotted down, with the inten- 
tion, apparently, of estimating their relative degrees of capability, and at last 
fixing on the one, or the one or two, that should appear best. Now at the 
head of this long list of subjects is Paradise Lost, There are no fewer than 
four separate drafts of this subject as then meditated by Milton for dramatic 
treatment. The first draft consists merely of a list of dramatis pcrsomv, as 
follows : — 

''The Persons: —W\c>a.-A.t\; Heavenly Love; Chorus of Angels; Lucifer; Adam, Eve, 
"with the Serpent; Conscience; Death; Labour, Sickness, Discontent, Ignorance, with 
" others, Mutes; Faith; Hope; Charity." 

This Draft having been cancelled, another is written parallel with it, as 
follows : — 

" The Persons: — Moses [originally written ' Michael or Moses,' but the words ' Michael or ' 
"deleted, so as to leave ' Moses' as preferable for the drama]; Justice, Mercy, Wisdom; 
"Heavenly Love; the Evening Star, Hesperus; Lucifer; Adam; Eve; Conscience; Labour, 
"Sickness, Discontent, Ignorance, Fear, Death, [as] Mutes; Faith; Hope; Charity." 



INTRODUCTION TO PARADISE LOST. 



This having also been scored out, there follovrs a third Draft, more com- 
plete, thus : — 

" Paradise Lost: — The Persons: Moses TrpoAovi^et, recounting how he assumed his true 
"body; that it corrupts not, because of his [being] with God in the mount; declares the like 
" of Enoch and Eliah, besides the purity of the place — that certain pure winds, dews, and 
" clouds preserve it from corruption; whence exhorts to the sight of God; tells them they can- 
" not see Adam in the state of innocence by reason of their sin. — [Act I.] : Justice, Mercy, 
" Wisdom, debating what should become of Man if he fall. Chorus of Angels sing a hymn of 
" the Creation. — Act II.: Heavenly Love; Evening Statr. Chorus sing the marriage song 
" and describe Paradise. — Act III. : Lucifer contriving Adam's ruin. Chorus fears for Adam 
"and relates Lucifer's rebellion and fall. — Act IV.: Adam, Eve, fallen; Conscience cites 
" them to God's examination. Chorus bewails and tells the good Adam hath lost. — Act V. : 
" Adam and Eve driven out of Paradise, presented by an Angel with Labour, Grief, Hatred, 
" Envy, War, Famine, Pestilence, Sickness, Discontent, Ignorance, Fear, [as] Mutes — to 
" whom he gives their names — likewise Winter, Heat, Tempest, &c.; Death entered into the 
" world; Faith, Hope, Charity, comfort and instruct him. Chorus briefly concludes." 

This is left standing; but in another part of the IMS., as if written at some 
interval of time, is a fourth Draft, as follows : — 

"Adam Unparadized: — The Angel Gabriel, either descending or entering — showing, 
since the globe is created, his frequency as much on Earth as in Heaven — describes Para- 
dise. Next the Chorus, showing the reason of his coming — to keep his watch, after Luci- 
fer's rebellion, by the command of God — and withal expressing his desire to see and know 
more concerning this excellent and new creature, Man. The Angel Gabriel, as by his name 
signifying a Prince of Power, passes by the station of the Chorus, and, desired by them, 

relates what he knew of Man, as the creation of Eve, with their love and marriage. 

After this, Lucifer appears, after his overthrow; bemoans himself; seeks revenge upon Man. 
The Chorus prepares resistance at his first approach. At last, after discourse of enmity on 
either side, he departs; whereat the Chorus sing of the battle and victory in Heaven against 
him and his accomplices, as before, after the first Act, was sung a hymn of the Creation. 

Here again may appear Lucifer, relating and consulting on what he had done to the 

destruction of Man. Man next and Eve, having been by this time seduced by the Serpent, 
appear confusedly, covered with leaves. Conscience, in a shape, accuses him; Justice 
cites him to the place whither Jehovah called for him. In the meantime the Chorus enter- 
tains the stage and is informed by some Angel of the manner of the Fall. Here the Chorus 

bewails Adam's fall. Adam and Eve return and accuse one another; but especially 

Adam lays the blame to his wife — is stubborn in his offence. Justice appears, reasons with 
him, convinces him. The Chorus admonishes Adam, and bids him beware Lucifer's 

example of impenitence. The Angel is sent to banish them out of Paradise; but, before, 

causes to pass before his eyes, in shapes, a masque of all the evils of this life and world. He 
is humbled, relents, despairs. At last appears Mercy, comforts him, promises him the 
Messiah; then calls in Faith, Hope, Charity; instructs him. He repents, gives God 

the glory, submits to his penalty. The Chorus briefly concludes. Compare this with 

the former Draft." 

These schemes of a possible drama on the subject of Paradise Lost were 
written out by IMilton as early as between 1639 and 1642; or between his 
thirty-first and his thirty-fourth year, as a portion of a list of about a hundred 
subjects which occurred to him, in the course of his reading at that time, as 
worth considering for the great English Poem which he hoped to give to the 
world. From the place and the proportion of space which they occupy in the 
list, it is apparent that the sul^ject of Paradise Lost had then fascinated him 
more strongly than any of the others, and that, if his notion of an epic on 
Arthur was then given up, a drama on Paradise Lost had occurred to him as 
the most likely substitute. It is also more probable than not that he then knew 
of previous dramas that had been written on the subject, and that, in writing 
out his own schemes, he had the schemes of some of these dramas in his mind. 
Vondel's play was not then in existence; but Andreini's was. Farther, there 



INTRODUCTION TO PARADISE LOST 13 



is evidence in Milton's prose pamphlets published about this time that, if he 
did ultimately fix on the subject he had so particularly been meditating, he was 
likely enough to make himself acquainted with any previous efforts on the same 
subject, and to turn them to account for whatever they might be worth. Thus, 
\x\.\i\'?, Reason of CJmrch Government (1641), taking the public into his con- 
fidence in various matters relating to himself, and informing them particularly 
how his mind had been recently occupied with thoughts of a great English 
poem (whether an epic or a drama he had not, he hints, quite determined), 
and with what reluctance he felt himself drawn away from that design to engage 
in the political controversies of the time, he thus pledges himself that the 
design, though necessarily postponed, shall not be abandoned : " Neither do I 
" think it shame to covenant with any knowing reader that for some few years 
" yet I may go on trust with him toward the payment of what I am now in- 
"debted, as being a work not to be raised from the heat of youth, or the 
" vapours of wine, like that which flows at waste from the pen of some vulgar 
" amorist, or the trencher-fury of a riming parasite, nor to be obtained by the 
" invocation of Dame Memory and her Siren daughters, but by devout prayer 
" to that Eternal Spirit who can enrich with all utterance and knowledge, and 
" sends out his Seraphim with the hallowed fire of his altar to touch and purify 
" the lips of whom he pleases. To this must be added industrious and select 
" reading, steady observation, insight into all seemly and generous arts and 
" affairs — till which in some measure be compassed, at mine own peril and cost 
*•■ I refuse not to sustain this expectation from as many as are not loth to hazard 
" so much credulity upon the best pledges that I can give them." 

There is evidence that, about the time when Milton thus announced to the 
public his design of some great English poem, to be accomplished at leisure, 
and when he was privately considering with himself whether a tragedy on the 
subject of Paradise Lost might not best fulfil the conditions of such a design, 
he had actually gone so far as to write not only the foregoimg drafts of the 
tragedy, but even some lines by way of opening. Speaking of Paradise Lost, 
and of the author's original intention that it should be a tragedy, Milton's 
nephew, Edward Phillips, tells us in his Memoir of his uncle (1694) : " In the 
"Fourth Book of the Poem there are six [ten?] verses, which, several years 
" before the Poem was begun, were shown to me, and some others, as designed 
" for the very beginning of the said tragedy." The verses referred to by 
Phillips are those (P. L. iv. 32-41) that now form part of Satan's speech on 
first standing on the Earth, and beholding, among the glories of the newly- 
created World, the Sun in his full splendour in the Heavens : — 

*' O thou, that, with surpassing glory crowned, 
Look'st from thy sole dominion like the god 
Of this new World — at whose sight all the stars 
Hide their diminished heads! to thee 1 call, 
But with no friendly voice, and add thy name, 

Sun ! to tell thee how I hate thy beams, 
That bring to me remembrance from what state 

1 fell, how glorious once above thy sphere, 
Till pride and worse ambition threw me down, 
Warring in Heaven against Heaven's matchless King ! " 

Phillips's words "several years before the Poem was begun" would not, by 
themselves, fix the date at which he had seen these lines. But in Aubrey's 



14 INTRODUCTION TO PARADISE LOST. 



earlier Memoir of Milton (1680), containing information which Aubrey had 
derived from Phillips, this passage occurs : " In the 4th book of Paradise Lost 
" there are about 6 verses of Satan's exclamation to the Sun w<=^ Mr. E. Phi. 
"remembers, about 15 or 16 years before ever his poem was thought of; w'^^ 
"verses were intended for the beginning of a tragoedie, w'^h j^g \^2i.^ design'd, 
" but was diverted from it by other besinesse." Here we have indirectly 
Phillips's own authority that he had read the verses in question at a date which 
we shall presently see reason to fix at 1642. He was then a pupil of his uncle, 
and living with him in his house in Aldersgate Street. 

Alas ! it was not " for some few years " only, as Milton had thought in 1641, 
that the execution of the great work so solemnly then promised had to be 
postponed. For a longer time than he had expected England remained in a 
condition in which he did not think it right, even had it been possible, that 
men like him should be writing poems. Only towards the end of Cromwell's 
Protectorate, when Milton had reached his fiftieth year, and had been for five 
or six years totally blind, does he seem to have been in circumstances to resume 
effectually the design to which he had pledged himself seventeen years before. 
By that time, however, there was no longer any doubt as to the theme he would 
choose. All the other themes once entertained had faded more or less into the 
background of memory, and paradise lost stood out, bold, clear, and without 
competitor. Nay more, the dramatic form, for which, when the subject first 
occurred to him, Milton had felt a preference, had been now abandoned, and it 
had been resolved that the poem should be an epic. He began this epic in 
earnest almost certainly before Cromwell was dead — " about 2 yeares before the 
" K[ingJ came in," says Aubrey on Phillips's authority; that is, in 1658, when, 
notwithstanding his blindness, he was still in official attendance on Cromwell 
at Whitehall as his Eatin Secretary, and writing occasional letters, in Crom- 
well's name, to foreign states and princes. 

The uncertain state of affairs after Cromwell's death, or, at all events, after 
the resignation of his son Richard, may have interfered with the progress of 
the poem ; and, when the Restoration came, there was danger for a time that 
not only the poem but the author's life might be cut short. That danger over, 
he was at liberty, " on evil days though fallen, and evil tongues," to prosecute 
his labour in obscurity and comparative peace. He had finished it, according 
to Aubrey, "about 3 years after the K.'s restauracion," i.e. about 1663. If 
so, he had been five or six years in all engaged on the poem, and the places 
in which he had successively pursued the task of meditating and dictating it 
had been mainly these — first. Petty PVance (now York Street), Westminster, 
till within a few weeks of the Restoration; next, some friend's house in Barthol- 
omew Close, West Smithfield, where he lay concealed for a while after the 
Restoration; then, a house in Holborn, near Red Lion P'ields, whither he 
removed as soon as it was safe for him to do so; and, finally, from 1661 
onwards, in Jewin Street, close to that part of Aldersgate Street where he had 
had his house some eighteen or nineteen years before, when Paradise Lost first 
occurred to his thoughts. During the five or six years occupied in the com- 
position of the poem in these places Milton's condition had been that of a 
widower, — his first wife having died in 1652 or 1653, in the house in Petty 
France, leaving him three daughters ; the second, whom he had married in 
Nov. 1656, while residing in the same house, having survived the marriage 



little more than a year; and his marriage with his third wife, Elizabeth Min- 
shuU, not having taken place till February, 1662-63, when, if Aubrey's account 
is correct, the poem was finished, or nearly so. It is probable, however, that, 
though Milton may have had the poem in some manner complete in Jewin 
Street, before his third marriage, there may have still been a good deal to do 
with the manuscript in the house in Artillery Walk, Bunhill Fields, to which 
he and his wife removed shortly after their marriage (in 1663 or 1664), and 
which was the last of Milton's many London residences, and that in which he 
died. We have an interesting glimpse of this manuscript, at any rate, as in 
Milton's possession, in a satisfactory state, during the summer of 1665. As 
the Great Plague was then raging in London, Milton had removed from his 
house in Artillery Walk to a cottage at Chalfont-St. -Giles, in Buckinghamshire, 
which had been taken for him, at his request, by Thomas Ellwood, a young 
Quaker, whose acquaintance with him had begun a year or two before in Jewin 
Street, Visiting Milton here as soon as circumstances would permit, Ellwood 
was received in a manner of which he has left an account in his Autobiography. 
"After some common discourses," he says, " had passed between us, he called 
"for a manuscript of his; which, being brought, he delivered to me, bidding 
" me take it home with me and read it at my leisure, and, when I had so done, 
" return it to him with my judgment thereupon. When I came home, and had 
" set myself to read it, I found it was that excellent poem which he entitled 
'■^Paradise Lost.'''' 

The anecdote proves the existence of at least one, and most probably of more 
than one, complete copy in the autumn of 1665 — which may, accordingly, be 
taken as the date when the poem was considered ready for press. The delay 
of publication till two years after that date is easily accounted for. It was 
not, says Ellwood, till " the sickness was over, and the city well cleansed, and 
become safely habitable again," that Milton returned to his house in Artillery 
Walk; then, still farther paralysing business of all sorts, came the Great Fire 
of Sept. 1666; and there were difficulties, as we have seen, about the licensing 
of a poem by a person of Milton's political antecedents and principles. 

Whether the time spent by Milton in the composition of Paradise Lost was 
five years (1658 — 1663), or seven or eight years (1658 — 1665), it is certain 
that he bestowed on the work all that care and labour which, on his first con- 
templation of such a work in his earlier manhood, he had declared would be 
necessary. The " industrious and select reading," which he had then spoken 
of as one of the many requisites, had not been omitted. Whatever else Para- 
dise Lost may be, it is certainly one of the most learned poems in the world. 
In thinking of it in this character we are to remember, first of all, that, ere his 
blindness had befallen him (1652), Milton's mind was stored with an amount 
of various and exact learning such as few other men of his age possessed; so 
that, had he ceased then to acquire more, he would have still carried in his 
memory an enormous resource of material out of which to build up the body 
of his poem. But he did not, after his blindness, cease to add to his knowl- 
edge by reading. At the very time when he was engaged on his Paradise 
Lost, he had, as his nephew Phillips informs us, several other great under- 
takings in progress of a different character, for which daily reading and research 
were necessary, even if they could have been dispensed with for the poem — to 
wit, the construction of a Body of Divinity from the Scriptures, the completion 



i6 INTRODUCTION TO PARADISE LOST. 



of a History of England, and the collection of materials for a Thesaurus, or 
Dictionary, of the Latin tongue. Laboriously every day, with a due division 
of his time from early morning, he pursued these tasks, by a systematic use of 
assistants whom he kept about him. As at the time when the composition 
of Paradise Lost was begun the eldest daughter, Anne, was but twelve years of 
age, the second, Mary, but ten, and the youngest, Deborah, but six, and as 
when the poem was certainly finished their ages were about eighteen, sixteen, 
and twelve respectively, their services as readers during its composition can 
have been but partial. But, whether with them as his readers, or with young 
men and grown-up friends performing the part for hire or love, he was able to 
avail himself for his poem, as well as for the drier works on which he was 
simultaneously engaged, of any help which books could give. He may, ac- 
cordingly, at this time, if not before, have made himself acquainted with some 
of those poems and other works, Italian and Latin, in which his subject, or 
some portion of it, had been previously treated. He was very likely to do so, 
and to take any hint he could get. 

It would not be difficult to prove, at any rate, that, among the " select read- 
ings " engaged in specially for the purposes of Paradise Lost while it was in 
progress, iiiust have been readings in certain books of geography and Eastern 
travel, and in certain Rabbinical, early Christian, and medineval commentators 
on the subjects of Paradise, the Angels, and the Fall. Nothing is more striking 
in the poem, nothing more touching, than the frequency, and, on the whole, 
wonderful accuracy, of its references to maps; and, whatever wealth of geo- 
graphical information Milton may have carried with him into his blindness, 
there are evidences, I think, that he must have refreshed his recollections of 
this kind by the eyes of others, and perhaps by their guidance of his finger, 
after his sight was gone. In short, for the Paradise Lost, as well as for the 
prose labours carried on along with it, there must have been abundance of 
reading; and, remembering to what a stock of prior learning, possessed before 
his blindness, all such increments were added, we need have no wonder at the 
appearance now presented by the poem. To say merely that it is a most 
learned poem — the poem of a mind full of miscellaneous lore wherewith its 
grand imagination might work — is not enough. Original as it is, original in 
its entire conception, and in every portion and passage, the poem is yet full of 
/lakes — we can express it no otherwise — full of flakes from all that is greatest 
in preceding literature, ancient or modern. This is what all the commentators 
have observed, and what their labours in collecting parallel passages from other 
poets and prose-writers have served more and more to illustrate. Such labours 
have been overdone; but they have proved incontestably the tenacity of Milton's 
memory. In the first place. Paradise Lost is permeated from beginning to 
end with citations from the Bible. Milton must have almost had the Bible 
by heart; and, besides that some passages of his poem, where he is keep- 
ing close to the Bible as his authority, are avowedly coagulations of Script- 
ural texts, it is possible again and again, throughout the rest, to detect the 
flash, through his noblest language, of some suggestion from the Psalms, the 
Prophets, the Gospels, or the Apocalyse. So, though in a less degree, with 
Homer, the Greek tragedians (Euripides was a special favourite of his), Plato, 
Demosthenes, and the Greek classics generally, and with Lucretius, Cicero, 
Virgil, Horace, Ovid, Juvenal, Persius, and the other Latins. So with the 
Italian writers whom he knew so well — Dante, Petrarch, Ariosto, Tasso, and 



INTRODUCTION TO PARADISE LOST. 17 



others now less remembered. So with modern Latinists of various European 
countries, still less recoverable. Finally, so with the whole series of preceding 
English poets, particularly Spenser, Shakespeare, and some of the minor 
Spenserians of the reigns of James and Charles I., not forgetting that uncouth 
popular favourite of his boyhood, Sylvester's Du Bartas. In connexion with 
all which, or with any particularly striking instance of the use by Milton of a 
thought or a phrase from previous authors, let the reader remember his own 
iJehnition of Plagiarism, given in his EiV'owKXacrTTjs. *' Such kind of borrow- 
ing as this," he there says, '■^f it be not bettered by the borrower, among good 
authors is accounted plagiary." And again, of quotations from the Bible, — 
"It is not hard for any man who hath a Bible in his hands to borrow good 
" words and holy sayings in abundance; but to make them his own is a work 
" of grace only from above." 

How was the poem, as it grew in Milton's mind, committed to paper? It 
was dictated by parcels of ten, twenty, thirty, or more lines at a time. Even 
before his blindness, Milton had made use of amanuenses; but, after his blind- 
ness, he scarcely wrote at all with his own hand. It would be difficult to pro- 
duce a genuine autograph of his of later date than 1652. On this matter 
Phillips is again our most precise authority. " There is another very remark- 
" able passage," he says, " in the composure of this poem, which I have a 
" particular occasion to remember; for, whereas I had the perusal of it from 
" the very beginning, for some years as I went from time to time to visit him, 
"in a parcel often, twenty, or thirty verses at a time — which, being written 
" by whatever hand came next, might possibly want correction as to the 
" orthography and pointing — having, as the summer came on, not been shewed 
•' any for a considerable while, and desiring the reason thereof, was answered, 
•' that his verse never happily flowed but from the Autumnal Equinoctial to the 
"Vernal {i.e. from the end of September to the end of March], and that 
" whatever he attempted [at other times] was never to his satisfaction, though 
"he exerted his fancy never so much; so that, in all the years he was about 
** this poem, he may be said to have spent but half his time therein." The 
reader ought to correct by this extract, taken in connexion with information 
already given as to Milton's domestic circumstances, the impressions he may 
have received from flummery pictures representing the blind poet in a rapt 
attitude dictating Paradise Lost to his attentive and revering daughters. His 
eldest daughter, Anne, could not write; and though the other two could write, 
and may occasionally, when the poem was in progress, have acted as his 
amanuenses, their ages exclude the idea of their having been his chief assistants 
in this capacity — while we also know that the poor motherless girls had grown 
up in circumstances to make them regard the services they were required to 
perform for their father as less a duty than a trouble. On the whole, Phillips's 
words suggest what is probably the right notion — that Milton dictated his 
poem in small portions at a time, chiefly within-doors, and more in winter than 
in summer, to any one that chanced to be about him. Sometimes it may have 
been one of his daughters; sometimes, latterly, when the poem was nearly 
complete, it may have been his third wife; frequently it may have been one of 
the friends or youths who statedly read to him. From Phillips's statement it 
is also clear that he assisted Milton in revising the gathered scraps of MS. from 
time to time. Finally, when ?ill was completed, a clean copy, or clean copies, 



must have been made by some practised scribe. One such clean copy was that 
sent to the licenser, a portion of which, as has been mentioned, still "exists. 
The hand in that manuscript has not been identified. 



III. SCHEME AND MEANING OF THE POEM. 

Paradise Lost is an Epic. But it is not, like the Iliad or the ^neid, a 
national Epic; nor is it an epic after any otlaer of the known types. It is an 
epic of the whole human species — an epic of our entire planet, or indeed of 
the entire astronomical universe. The title of the poem, though perhaps the 
best that could have been chosen, hardly indicates beforehand the full nature 
or extent of the theme; nor are the opening lines, by themselves, sufficiently 
descriptive of what is to follow. According to them, the song is to be 

" Of Man's first disobedience, and the fruit 
Of that forbidden tree whose mortal taste 
Brought Death into the world, and all our woe, 
With loss of Eden." 

This is a true enough description, inasmuch as the whole story bears on this 
point. But it is the vast comprehension of the story, both in space and time, 
as leading to this point, that makes it unique among epics, and entitles Milton 
to speak of it as involving 

" Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme." 

It is, in short, a poetical representation, on the authority of hints from the 
Book of Genesis, of the historical connexion between Human Time and 
Aboriginal or Eternal Infinity, or between our created World and the immeas- 
urable and inconceivable Universe of Pre-human Existence. So far as our 
World is concerned, the poem starts from that moment when our newly-created 
Earth, with all the newly-created starry depths about it, had as yet but two 
human beings upon it; and these consequently are, on this side of the pre- 
supposed Infinite Eternity, the main persons of the epic. But we are carried 
back into this pre-supposed Infinite Eternity, and the grand purpose of the 
poem is to connect, by a stupendous imagination, certain events or courses of 
the inconceivable history that had been unfolding itself there with the first 
fortunes of that new azure World which is familiar to us, and more particularly 
with the first fortunes of that favoured ball at the centre whereon those two 
human creatures walked. Now the person of the epic through the narration 
of whose acts this connexion is established is Satan. He, as all critics have 
perceived, and in a wider sense than most of them have perceived, is the real 
hero of the poem. He and his actions are the link between that new World 
of Man the infancy of which we behold in the poem and that boundless ante- 
cedent Universe of Pre-human Existence which the poem assumes. For he 
was a native of that Pre-human Universe — one of its greatest and most con- 
spicuous natives; and what we follow in the poem, when its story is taken 
chronologically, is the life of this great being, from the time of his yet unim- 
paired primacy or archangelship among the Celestials, on to that time when, 
in pursuit of a scheme of revenge, he flings himself into the new experimental 
World, tries the strength of the new race at its fountain-head, and, by success 



INTRODUCTION TO PARADISE LOST. 19 



in his attempt, vitiates Man's portion of space to his own nature, and wins 
possession of it for a season. The attention of the reader is particularly re- 
quested to the following remarks and diagrams. The diagrams are not mere 
illustrations of what Milton may have conceived in his scheme of his poem. 
They are what he ^z^ conceive and most tenaciously keep before his mind from 
first to last; and, unless they are thoroughly grasped, the poem will not be 
understood as a whole, and many portions of it v/ill be misinterpreted. 

Aboriginally, or in primeval Eternity, before the creation of our Earth or 
the Starry Universe to which it belongs, universal space is to be considered, 
according to the requisites of the poem, not as containing stars or starry 
systems at all, but as, so to say, a sphere of infinite radius, divided equatorially 
into two hemispheres, thus 




The upper of these two hemispheres of primeval Infinity is Heaven, or 
The Empyrean — a boundless, unimaginable region of Light, Freedom, Happi- 
ness, and Glory, in the midst whereof Deity, though omnipresent, has His 
immediate and visible dwelling, and where He is surrounded by a vast popu- 
lation of beings, called "the Angels," or "Sons of God," who draw near to 
His throne in worship, derive thence their nurture and their delight, and yet 
live dispersed through all the ranges and recesses of the region, leading sever- 
ally their mighty Hves and performing the behests of Deity, but organized into 
companies, orders, and hierarchies. Milton is careful to explain that all that 
he says of Heaven is said symbolically, and in order to make conceivable by 
the human imagination what in its own nature is inconceivable; but, this being 
explained, he is bold enough in his use of terrestrial analogies. Round the 
immediate throne of Deity, indeed, there is kept a blazing mist of vagueness, 
which words are hardly permitted to pierce, though the Angels are represented 
as from time to time assembling within it, beholding the Divine Presence and 
hearing the Divine Voice. But Heaven at large, or portions of it, are figured 
as tracts of a celestial Earth, with plain, hill, and valley, wherein the myriads 
of the Sons of God expatiate, in their two orders of Seraphim and Cherubim, 
and in their descending ranks as Archangels or Chiefs, Princes of various 
degrees, and individual Powers and Intelligences. Certain differences, how- 
ever, are implied as distinguishing these Celestials from the subsequent race of 






20 INTRODUCTION TO PARADISE LOST. 



Mankind. As they are of infinitely greater prowess, immortal, and of more 
purely spiritual nature, so their ways even of physical existence and action 
transcend all that is within human experience. Their forms are dilatable or 
contractible at pleasure; they move with incredible swiftness; and, as they are 
not subject to any law of gravitation, their motion, though ordinarily repre- 
sented as horizontal over the Heavenly ground, may as well be vertical or in 
any other direction, and their aggregations need not, like those of men, be in 
squares, oblongs, or other plane figures, but may be in cubes, or other rectan- 
gular or oblique solids, or in spherical masses. These and various other partic- 
ulars are to be kept in mind concerning Heaven and its pristine inhabitants. 
As respects the other half or hemisphere of the primeval Infinity, though it too 
is inconceivable in its nature, and has to be described by words which are at 
best symbolical, less needs be said. For it is Chaos, or the Uninhabited — a 
huge, limitless ocean, abyss, or quagmire, of universal darkness and lifeless- 
ness, wherein are jumbled in blustering confusion the elements of all matter, 
or rather the crude embryons of all the elements, ere as yet they are distin- 
guishable. There is no hght there, nor properly Earth, Water, Air, or Fire, 
but only a vast pulp or welter of unformed matter, in which all these lie tem- 
pestuously intermixed. Though the presence of Deity is there potentially too, 
it is still, as it were, actually retracted thence, as from a realm unorganized and 
left to Night and Anarchy; nor do any of the Angels wing down into its re- 
pulsive obscurities. The crystal floor or wall of Heaven divides them from it; 
underneath which, and unvisited of light, save what may glimmer through 
upon its nearer strata, it howls and rages and stagnates eternally. 

Such is and has been the constitution of the Universal Infinitude from ages 
immemorial in the Angelic reckoning. But lo ! at last a day in the annals of 
Heaven when the grand monotony of existence hitherto is disturbed and 
broken. On a day — "such a day as Heaven's great year brings forth" (v. 
582, 583) — all the Empyreal host of Angels, called by imperial summons from 
all the ends of Heaven, assemble innumerably before the throne of the 
Almighty; beside whom, imbosomed in bliss, sat the Divine Son. They had 
come to hear this divine decree : — 

" Hear, all ye Angels, Progeny of Light, 

Thrones, Dominations, Princedoms, Virtues, Powers, 

Hear my decree which unrevoked shall stand! 

This day I have begot whom I declare 

My only Son, and on this holy hill 

Him have anointed, whom ye now behold 

At my right hand. Your Head I him appoint; 

And by myself have sworn to him shall bow 

All knees in Heaven, and shall confess him Lord." 

With joy and obedience is this decree received throughout the hierarchies, 
save in one quarter. One of the first of the Archangels in Heaven, if not the 
very first — the coequal of Michael, Gabriel, and Raphael, if not their superior 
— is the Archangel known afterwards (for his first name in Heaven is lost) as 
Satan, or Lucifer. In him the effect of the decree is rage, envy, pride, the res- 
olution to rebel. He conspires with his next subordinate, known afterwards 
as Beelzebub; and there is formed by them that faction in Heaven which in- 
cludes at length one third of the entire Heavenly host. Then ensue the wars 
in Heaven — Michael and the loyal Angels warring against Satan and the rebel 



INTRODUCTION TO PARADISE LOST. 



Angels, so that for two days the Empyrean is in uproar. But on the third day 
the Messiah himself rides forth in his chariot of power, and armed with ten 
thousand thunders. Right on he drives, in his sole might, through the rebel 
ranks, till they are trampled and huddled, in one indiscriminate flock, incapable 
of resistance, before him and his fires. But his purpose is not utterly to destroy 
them, — only to expel them from Heaven. Underneath their feet, accordingly, 
the crystal wall or floor of Heaven opens wide, rolling inwards, and disclosing 
a spacious gap into the dark Abyss or Chaos. Horrorstruck they start back; 
but worse urges them behind. Headlong they fling themselves dowm, eternal 
wrath burning after them, and driving them still down, down, through Chaos, 
to the place prepared for them. 

The place prepared for them ! Yes, for now there is a modification in the 
map of Universal Space to suit the changed conditions of the Universe. At 
the bottom of what has hitherto been Chaos there is now marked out a kind 
of Antarctic region, distinct from the body of Chaos proper. This is Hell — 




a vast region of fire, sulphurous lake, plain, and mountain, and of all forms of 
fiery and icy torment. It is into this nethermost and dungeon-like portion of 
space, separated from Heaven by a huge belt of intervening Chaos, that the 
Fallen Angels are thrust. For nine days and nights they have been falling 
through Chaos, or rather being driven down through Chaos by the Messiah's 
pursuing thunders, before they reach this new home (vi. 871). When they 
do reach it, the roof closes over them and shuts them in. Meanwhile the 
Messiah has returned in triumph into highest Heaven, and there is rejoicing 
over the expulsion of the damned. 

For the moment, therefore, there are three divisions of Universal Space — 
Heaven, Chaos, and Hell. Almost immediately, however, there is a fourth. 
Not only have the expelled Angels been nine days and nights in falling through 
Chaos to reach Hell; but, after they have reached liell and it has closed 
over them, they lie for another period of nine days and nights (l 50 — 53) 
stupefied and bewildered in the fiery gulf. It is during this second nine days 
that there takes place a great event, which farther modifies the map of Infini- 
tude. Long had there been talk in Heaven of a new race of beings to be 
created at some time by the Almighty, inferior in some respects to the Angels, 
but in the history of whom and of God's dealings with them there M'as to be 
a display of the divine power and love which even the Angels might contem- 



22 INTRODUCTION TO PARADISE LOST. 



plate with wonder. The time for the creation of this new race of beings has 
now arrived. Scarcely have the Rebel Angels been enclosed in Hell, and 
Chaos has recovered from the turmoil of the descent of such a rout through 
its depths, when the Paternal Deity, addressing the Son, tells him that, in order 
to repair the loss caused to Heaven, the predetermined creation of Man and of 
the World of Man shall now take effect. It is for the Son to execute the will 
of the Father. Straightway he goes forth on his creating errand. The ever- 
lasting gates of Heaven open wide to let him pass forth; and, clothed with 
majesty, and accompanied with thousands of Seraphim and Cherubim, anxious 
to behold the great work to be done, he does pass forth — far into that very 
Chaos through which the Rebel Angels have so recently fallen, and which now 
intervenes between Heaven and Hell. At length he stays his fervid wheels, 
and, taking the golden compasses in his hands, centres one point of them 
where he stands and turns the other through the obscure profundity around 
(vii. 224 — 231). Thus are marked out, or cut out, through the body of Chaos, 
the limits of the new Universe of Man — that Starry Universe which to us 
seems measureless and the same as Infinity itself, but which is really only a 
beautiful azure sphere or drop, insulated in Chaos, and hung at its topmost 
point or zenith from the Empyrean. But, though the limits of the new expe- 
rimental Creation are thus at once marked out, the completion of the Creation 
is a work of Six Days (vii. 242, 550). On the last of these, to crown the 
work, the happy Earth received its first human pair — the appointed lords of 
the entire new Creation. And so, resting from his labours, and beholding all 
that he had made, that it was good, the Messiah returned to his Father, reas- 
cending through the golden gates, which were now just over the zenith of the 
new World, and were its point of suspension from the Empyrean Heaven; 
and the Seventh Day or Sabbath was spent in songs of praise by all the 
Heavenly hosts over the finished work, and in contemplation of it as it hung 

beneath them, ,, , ^^ 

another Heaven, 
From Heaven-gate not far, founded in view 
On the clear hyaline." 

And now, accordingly, this was the diagram of the Universal Infinitude : — 




There are the three regions of Heaven, Chaos, and Hell as before; but 
there is also now a fourth region, hung drop-like into Chaos by an attachment 
to Heaven at the north pole or zenith. This is the New World, or the 



INTRODUCTION TO PARADISE LOST. 



Starry Universe — all that Universe of orbs and galaxies which man's vision 
can reach by utmost power of telescope, and which even to his imagination is 
illimitable. And yet as to the proportions of this World to the total map 
Milton dares to be exact. The distance from its nadir or lowest point to the 
upper boss of Hell is exactly equal to its own radius; or, in other words, the 
distance of Hell-gate from Heaven-gate is exactly three semidiameters of 
the Human or Starry Universe (i. 73, 74). 

Meanwhile, just as this final and stupendous modification of the map of In- 
finitude has been accomplished, Satan and his rebel adherents in Hell begin to 
recover from their stupor — Satan the first, and the others at his call. There 
ensue Satan's first speech to them, their first surveys of their new domain, their 
building of their palace of Pandemonium, and their deliberations there in full 
council as to their future policy. Between Moloch's advice for a renewal of 
open war with Heaven, and Belial's and Mammon's counsels, which recommend 
acquiescence in their new circumstances and a patient effort to make the best of 
them, Beelzebub insinuates the proposal which is really Satan's, and which is 
ultimately carried. It is that there should be an excursion from Hell back 
through Chaos, to ascertain whether that new Universe, with a new race of 
beings in it, of which there had been sa much talk in Heaven, and which there 
was reason to think might come into existence about this time, had come into 
existence. If it had, might not means be found to vitiate this new Universe 
and the favourite race that was to possess it, and to drag them down to the level 
of Hell itself? Would not such a ruining of the Almighty's new experiment at 
its outset be a revenge that would touch Him deeply? Would it not be easier 
than open war? And on the stepping-stone of such a success might they not 
raise themselves to further victory, or at least to an improvement of their pres- 
ent condition, and an extent of empire that should include more than Hell? 

Satan's counsel having been adopted, it is Satan himself that adventures 
the perilous expedition up through Chaos in quest of the new Universe. He 
is detained for a while at Hell-gate by the ghastly shapes of Sin and Death 
who are there to guard it; but, the gates being at length opened to him, 
never to shut again, he emerges into the hideous Chaos overhead. His journey 
up through it is arduous. Climbing, swimming, wading, flying, through the 
boggy consistency — now falling plumb-down thousands of fathoms, again 
carried upwards by a gust or explosion — he reaches at length, about midway in 
his journey, the central throne and pavilion where Chaos personified and Night 
have their government. There he receives definite intelligence that the new 
World he is in search of has actually been created. Thus encouraged, and 
directed on his way, again he springs upward, " like a pyramid of fire," 
through what of Chaos remains; and, after much farther flying, tacking, and 
steering, he at last reaches the upper confines of Chaos, where its substance 
seems thinner, so that he can wing about more easily, and where a glimmering 
dawn of the light from above begins also to appear. For a while in this 
calmer space he weighs his wings to behold at leisure (ii. 1046) the sight that 
is breaking upon him. And what a sight ! 

" Far ofi" the Empyreal Heaven extended wide 
In crescent, undetermined square or round. 
With opal towers and battlements adorned 
Of living sapphire, once his native seat, 
And, fast by, hanging in a golden chain, 
This pendent World, in bigness as a star 
Of smallest magnitude close by the moon." 



24 INTRODUCTION TO PARADISE LOST, 



Care must be taken not to misinterpret this passage. Even Addison misin- 
terpreted it. He speaks of Satan's distant discovery " of the Earth that hung 
close by the Moon " as one of the most " wonderfully beautiful and poetical '* 
passages of the poem. But it is more wonderfully beautiful and poetical than 
Addison thought. For, as even a correct reading of the passage by itself 
would have shown, the "pendent World" which Satan here sees is not the 
Earth at all, but the entire Starry Universe, or Mundane Sphere, hung drop- 
like by a golden touch from the Empyrean above it. In proportion to this 
Empyrean, at the distance whence Satan gazes, even the Starry Universe 
pendent from it is but as a star of smallest magnitude seen on the edge of 
the full or crescent moon. 

At length (ill. 418 — 422) Satan alights on the opaque outside, or convex 
shell, of the new Universe. As he had approached it, what seemed at first 
but as a star had taken the dimensions of a globe; and, when he had alighted, 
and begun to walk on it, this globe had become, as it seemed, a boundless con- 
tinent of firm land, exposed, dark and starless, to the stormy Chaos blustering 
round like an inclement sky. Only on the upper convex of the shell, in its 
angles towards the zenith, some reflection of hght was gained from the wall 
of Heaven. Apparently it was on this upper convex of the outside of the 
New World, and not at its nadir, or the point nearest Hell, that Satan first 
alighted and walked (compare 11. 1034 — 1053, in. 418 — 430, x. 312 — 349). 
At all events he had to reach the zenith before he could begin the real business 
of his errand. For only at this point — only at the point of attachment or sus- 
pension of the new Universe to the Empyrean — was there an opening into the 
interior of the Universe. All the outer shell, save at that point, was hard, 
compact, and not even transpicuous to the light within, as the spherical glass 
round a lamp is, but totally opaque, or only glistering faintly on its upper side 
with the reflected light of Heaven. Accordingly — after wandering on this 
dark outside of the Universe long enough to allow Milton that extraordinary 
digression (iii. 440 — 497) in which he finds one of the most magnificently 
grotesque uses for the outside of the Universe that it could have entered into 
the imagination of any poet to conceive — the Fiend is attracted in the right 
direction to the opening at the zenith. What attracts him thither is a gleam 
of light from the mysterious structure or staircase (ill. 501 et seg.) which there 
serves the Angels in their descents from Heaven's gate»into the Human 
Universe, and again in their ascents from the Universe to Heaven's gate. 
Sometimes these stairs are drawn up to Heaven and invisible; but at the 
moment when Satan reached the spot they were let down, so that, standing on 
the lower stair, and gazing down through the opening right underneath, he 
could suddenly behold the whole interior of the Starry Universe at once. He 
can behold it in all directions — both in the direction of latitude, or depth from 
the pole where he stands to the opposite pole or nadir; and also longitudinally, 

" from eastern point 
Of Libra to the fleecy star that bears 
Andromeda far off Atlantic seas 
Beyond the horizon." 

At this point, and before following the Fiend in his flight down into the in- 
terior of our Astronomical Universe, it is necessary to describe the system or 
constitution of that interior as it is conceived by Milton and assumed through- 



INTRODUCTION TO PARADISE LOST. 25 

out the poem. Let us attend, therefore, more particularly now to that small 
central circle of our last diagram, hanging drop-like from the Empyrean, which 
we have as yet described no farther than by saying that, small as it is, it 
represents our vast Starry Universe in Milton's total scheme of Infinitude. 
Although a great part of the action of the poem takes place in the Empyrean, 
in Chaos, and in Hell, much of it also takes place within the bounds of this 
Starry Universe; so that, if there is any peculiarity in Milton's conception of 
the interior arrangements of this Universe, that peculiarity must be understood 
before many parts of the poem are intelligible. Such a peculiarity there is; 
and a distinct exposition of it is nearly all that is farther desirable in this Intro- 
duction to the Poem. 

Milton's Astronomy, or, at least, the astronomical system which he thought 
proper to employ in his Paradise Lost, is not our present Copernican system 
— which, in his time, was not generally or popularly accepted. It is the older 
Astronomical System, now usually called " the Ptolemaic," because it had 
been set forth in its main features by the astronomer Ptolemy of Alexandria, 
who lived in the second century. 

According to this " Ptolemaic system," the Earth was the fixed centre of the 
Mundane Universe, and the apparent motions of the other celestial bodies 
were caused by the real revolutions of successive Heavens, or Spheres of Space, 
enclosing the central Earth at different distances. Plrst, and nearest to the 
Earth, were the Spheres or Orbs of the Seven Planets then known, in this 
order — the Moon (treated as a planet), Mercury, Venus, the Sun (treated as 
a planet — the "glorious planet Sol," Shakespeare calls it, Troil. and Cress. 
Act I. Scene 3), Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn. Beyond these, as an Eighth 
Sphere or Orb, was the Firmament or Heaven of all the fixed stars. These 
eight Spheres or Heavens had sufficed till Aristotle's time, and beyond it, for 
all the purposes of astronomical explanation. The outermost or Eighth Sphere 
was supposed to wheel diurnally, or in twenty-four hours, from East to West, 
carrying in it all the fixed stars, and carrying with it also all the seven interior 
Heavens or Spheres — which Spheres, however, had also separate and slower 
motions of their own, giving rise to those apparent motions of the Moon 
(months), Mercury, Venus, the Sun (years). Mars, Jupiter, and Saturn, which 
could not be accounted for by the revolution of the Starry Sphere alone. But, 
later observations having discovered irregularities in the phenomena of the 
heavens which the supposed motions of even the Eight Spheres could not 
account for, two extra vSpheres had been added. To account for the very slow 
change called " the precession of the equinoxes," the discovery of which was 
prepared by Hipparchus in the second century B.C., it had been necessary to 
imagine a Ninth Sphere, called " the Crystalline Sphere," beyond that of the 
Fixed Stars; and, finally, for farther reasons, it had been necessary to suppose 
all enclosed in a Tenth Sphere, called " the Primum Mobile," or " first moved." 
These two outermost spheres, or at least the Tenth vSphere, had been added 
in the Middle Ages; and, indeed, the Ptolemaic system, so completed up to 
the final number of Ten Spheres, may be called rather the "Alphonsine 
System," as having been adopted and taught by the famous King and astrono- 
mer, Alphonso X. of Castille (1252 — 1284). It need only be added that the 
Spheres were not necessarily supposed to be actual spheres of solid matter. 
It was enough if they were conceived as spheres of invisible or transpicuous 



26 INTRODUCTION TO PARADISE LOST. 



space. Perhaps only the outermost Sphere, or Primum Mobile, enclosing the 
whole Universe from absolute Infinity or Nothingness, had to be thought of as 
in any sense a material or impenetrable shell. 

The utter strangeness of this Ptolemaic system to our present habits of 
thought causes us to forget how long it lasted. Although it was in 1543 that 
Copernicus had propounded the other system, and although the views of 
Copernicus struggled gradually into the belief of subsequent astronomers, and 
had further demonstration given them by Galileo (1610 — 1616), the Ptolemaic 
or Alphonsine system, with its ten Spheres enclosing the stationary Earth at 
different distances, and wheeling round it in a complex combination of their 
separate motions, retained its prevalence in the popular mind of Europe, and 
even in the scientific world, till the end of the seventeenth century. Hence 
all the literature of England, and of other countries, down to that date, is 
latently cast in the imaginative mould of that system, and is full of its phrase- 
ology and of suggestions from it. When Shakespeare speaks of the " stars 
starting from their spheres," he means from the Ptolemaic Spheres; and, simi- 
larly, the word " sphere " in our old poetry has generally this meaning. Indeed, 
it retains this meaning in some of our still current expressions, as " This is not 
my sphere," " You are out of your sphere," &c. A full examination of our old 
literature in the light of the principle of criticism here suggested — i.e. with 
the recollection that it was according to the Ptolemaic conception of the Uni- 
verse, and not according to the Copernican, that our old poets thought of 
things and expressed their thoughts — might lead to curious results. We are 
concerned at present, however, with Milton only. 

In Milton's case we are presented with the interesting phenomenon of a 
mind apparently uncertain to the last which of the two systems, the Ptolemaic 
or the Copernican, was the true one, or perhaps beginning to be persuaded 
of the higher probability of the Copernican, but yet retained the Ptolemaic for 
poetical purposes. For Milton's life (1608 — 1674) coincides with the period 
of the struggle between the two systems. In his boyhood and youth he had, 
doubtless, inherited the general or Ptolemaic belief — that in which Shakes- 
peare died. Here, for example, is what everybody was reading during Milton's 
youth in that favourite book, Sylvester's Translation of Du Bartas : — 

" As the ague-sick upon his shivering pallet 
Delays his health oft to delight his palate, 
When wilfully his tasteless taste delights 
In things unsavoury to sound appetites, 
Even so some brain-sicks live there now-a-days 
That lose themselves still in contrary ways — 
Preposterous wits that cannot row at ease 
On the smooth channel of our common seas; 
And such are those, in my conceit at least, 
Those clerks that think — think how absurd a jest! — 
That neither heavens nor stars do turn at all 
Nor dance about this great round Earthly Ball, 
But the Earth itself, this massy globe of ours, 
Turns round about once every twice-twelve hours," 

Du Bartas had been a French Protestant, and his English translator, Sylvester, 
was a Puritan. It was not, therefore, only to the Roman Inquisition or to 
Roman Catholics that Galileo must have seemed a " brain-sick " and " a pre- 
posterous wit " when he advocated the Copernican theory. In 1638 Milton 
had himself conversed with Galileo, then old and bhnd, near Florence. 



INTRODUCTION TO PARADISE LOST 27 



"There it was," he wrote in 1644 {Areopag.'), "that I found and visited the 
" famous Gahleo, grown old, a prisoner to the Inquisition, for thinking in 
" Astronomy otherwise than the P'ranciscan and Dominican licensers thought." 
And yet, despite this passage, and other passages showing how strongly the 
character and history of Galileo had fascinated him, it may be doubted 
whether Milton even then felt himself entitled to reject the system which 
Galileo had impugned. His friends and literary associates, the S^nectymnuans, 
at all events, in their answer to Bishop Hall's " Humble Remonstrance " 
(1641), had cited the Copernican doctrine as an unquestionable instance of a 
supreme absurdity. " There is no more truth in this assertion," they say of 
one of Bishop Hall's statements, " than if he had said, with Anaxagoras, 
"' Snow is black,' or with Copernicus, 'The Earth moves, and the Heavens 
" stand still.' " There cannot be a more distinct proof than this incidental 
passage affords, of the utter repulsiveness of the Copernican theory to even the 
educated English intellect as late as the middle of the seventeenth century. 
Milton was probably even then, if we may judge from the above-quoted refer- 
ence to Galileo, in advance of his contemporaries on this question; and in the 
interval between that time and the completion of his Paradise Lost his Coper- 
nicanism may have become decided. There are, at any rate, two passages in 
Paradise Lost where he shows his perfect acquaintance with the Copernican 
theory, and with the arguments in its behalf. The one (iv. 592 — 597) is an 
incidental passage; in the other and much longer passage (vin. 15 — 178) he 
makes the question a subject of express conversation between Raphael and 
Adam. In this last passage Adam is represented as arriving by intuition at 
the Copernican theory, or at least as perceiving its superior simplicity over the 
Ptolemaic; and, though the drift of the Angel's reply is that the question is an 
abstruse one, and that it is of no great consequence for man's real duty in the 
world which system is the true one, yet the balance of the Angel's remarks is 
also Copernican. There is no doubt that these two passages were inserted by 
Milton to relieve his own mind on the subject, and by way of caution to the 
reader that the scheme of the physical Universe adopted in the construction of 
the poem is not to be taken as more than a hypothesis for the imagination. 

That scheme is, undoubtedly, the Ptolemaic or Alphonsine. Accordingly 
the little central circle, hung drop-like from the Empyrean in our last diagram 
— and there representing the dimensions of the total Creation of the six days, 
or, in other words, of our Starry Universe — may be exhiliited now on a mag- 
nified scale, by simply reproducing one of the diagrams of the Heavens which 
were given in all the old books of Astronomy. The following is a copy (a 
little neater than the original, but otherwise exact) from a woodcut which we 
find in an edition, in 1610, of the Sphara of the celebrated middle-age astron- 
omer, Joannes a Sacrobosco, or John Holywood. This treatise, originally 
written in the thirteenth century, and amended or added to by subsequent 
writers, was the favourite manual of astronomy throughout Europe down to 
Milton's time. He himself used it as a text-book, as we learn from his nephew 
Phillips. The cut, the reader ought to understand, represents the interior of 
the Mundane System in equatorial section as looked down into from the pole 
of the ecliptic. It is, in short, a view down from the opening at the pole in 
the preceding cut. 

This, literally this, so far as mere diagram can represent it, is the World or 
Mundane Universe, as Milton keeps it in his mind's eye throughout the poem. 



28 



INTRODUCTION TO PARADISE LOST. 



It is an enormous azure round of space scooped or carved out of Chaos, and 
communicating aloft with the Empyrean, but consisting within itself of ten 
Orbs or hollow Spheres in succession, wheeling one within the other, down to 
the stationary nest of our small Earth at the centre, with the elements of 
water, air, and fire, that are immediately around it. It is according to this 
scheme that Milton virtually describes the process of creation in the first, the 
second, and the fourth of the six. days of Genesis (vii. 232 — 275 and 339 — 
386) — the only deviation being that the word "Firmament" is not there 
applied specifically to the eighth or Starry Sphere, but is used for the whole 
continuous depth of all the heavens as far as the Primum Mobile. As if to 




prevent any mistake, however, there is one passage in which the Ten Spheres 
are actually enumerated. It is that (in. 481 — 483) where the attempted 
ascent of ambitious souls from Earth to the Empyrean by their own effort is 
described. In order to reach the opening into the Empyrean at the World's 
zenith, what are the successive stages of their flight? 

" They pass the Planets Seven, and pass the Fixed, 
And that Crystalline Sphere whose balance weighs 
The trepidation talked, and that First Moved." 



INTRODUCTION TO PARADISE LOST. 29 



Here we have the Alphonsine heavens in their order, and vi^ith their exact 
names. But all through the poem the language assumes the same astro- 
nomical system. Where the v^^ords Orb and Sphere occur, for example, they 
almost invariably — not quite invariably — mean Orb or Sphere in the Ptolemaic 
sense. Yet, to make all safe, Milton, as we have seen, inserts two passages 
at least in which the Copernican theory of the heavens is distinctly suggested 
as a possible or probable alternative; and, moreover, even while using the 
language of the other theory, he so arranges that it need not be supposed he 
does so for any other reason than poetical preference. 

In one respect the diagram must fail to convey Milton's complete notion of 
the World or Mundane Universe at that moment where he supposes the Fiend 
first gazing down into it from the glorious opening at the zenith, and then 
plunging precipitate through its azure depths (in. 561 — 565) in quest of that 
particular spot in it where Man had his abode. That small Earth which is so 
conspicuous in the diagram, as being at the centre, either was not visible even 
to angelic eyes from such an amazing distance as the opening at the zenith of 
the Primum Mobile, or was not yet marked. The luminary that attracts Satan 
first, from its all-surpassing splendour, is the Sun. Though the tenant only of 
the fourth of the Spheres, this luminary so far surpasses all others in majesty 
that it seems like the King not only of the seven planetary Orbs, but of all 
the ten. It seems the very God of the whole new Universe — shooting its 
radiance even through the beds of the stars, as far as the Primum Mobile itself 
(ill. 571 — 587). It is thither, accordingly, that Satan bends his flight; it is 
on this of all the bodies in the new Universe that he first alights; and it is 
only after the Angel Uriel, whom he there encounters, and who does not 
recognise him in his disguise, has pointed out to him the Earth shining at a 
distance in the sunlight (iii. 722 — 724) that he knows the exact scene of his 
further labours. Thus informed, he wings off again from the Sun's body, and, 
wheeling his steep flight towards the Earth, alights at length on the top of 
Niphates, near Eden. 

There is no need to follow the action of the poem farther in this Introduction. 
All that takes place after the arrival of Satan on the Earth — all that portion 
of the story that is enacted within the bounds of Eden or of Paradise — the 
reader can without difficulty make out for himself; or any such incidental 
elucidation as may be requisite will easily occur to him. It is necessary only 
to take account here of certain final modifications in Milton's imaginary phys- 
ical structure of the Universe, which take place after the Tempter has suc- 
ceeded in his enterprise and Man has fallen : — In the first place there is then 
established — what did not exist before — a permanent communication between 
Hell arid the new Universe. When Satan had come up through Chaos from 
Hell-gate, he had done so with toil and difficulty, as one exploring his way; but 
no sooner had he succeeded in his mission than Sin and Death, whom he had 
left at Hell-gate, felt themselves instinctively aware of his success, and of the 
necessity there would thenceforward be for a distinct road between Hell and 
the new World, by which all the Infernals might go and come. Accordingly 
(x. 282 — 324) they construct such a road — a wonderful causey or bridge from 
Hell-gate, right through or over Chaos, to that exact part of the outside of 
the new Universe where Satan had first alighted, — i.e. not to its nadir, but to 
some point near its zenith, where there is the break or orifice in the Primum 



30 INTRODUCTION TO PARADISE LOST. 

Mobile towards the Empyrean. And what is the consequence of this vast 
alteration in the physical structure of the Universe? The consequence is that 
the Infernal host are no longer confined to Hell, but possess also the new 
Universe, like an additional island or pleasure-domain, up in Chaos, and on 
the very confines of their former home, the Empyrean. Preferring this conquest 
to their proper empire in Hell, they are thenceforward perhaps more frequently 
in our World than in Hell, winging through its various Spheres, but chiefly 
inhabiting the Air round our central Earth. But this causey from Hell to 
the World, constructed by Sin and Death, is not the only modification of the 
physical Universe consequent on the Fall. The interior of the Human World 
as it hangs from the Empyrean receives some alterations for the worse by the 
decree of the Almighty Himself. The elements immediately round the Earth 
become harsher and more malignant; the planetary and starry Spheres are so 
influenced that thenceforward planets and stars look inward upon the central 
Earth with aspects of malevolence; nay, perhaps it Avas now first that, either 
by a heaving askance of the Earth from its former position, or by a change in 
the Sun's path, the ecliptic became oblique to the equator (x. 651 — 691). All 
this is apart from changes in the actual body of the Earth, including the 
obliteration of the site of the desecrated Paradise, and the outbreak of virulence 
among all things animate. 

From the foregoing sketch, it will be seen that, while the poem is properly 
enough, as the name Paradise Lost indicates, the tragical story of the temp- 
tation and fall of the human race in its first parents, yet this story is included 
in a more comprehensive epic, of which the rebel Archangel is the hero, and 
the theatre of which is nothing less than Universal Infinitude. While the con- 
summation, as regards Man, is the loss of innocence and Eden, and the liability 
to Death, the consummation, as regards Satan, is more in the nature of a 
triumph. He has succeeded in his enterprise. He has vitiated the new World 
at its beginning, and he has added it as a conquest to the Hell which had 
been assigned to him and his for their only proper realm. True, in the very 
hour of his triumph a curse has been pronounced upon him; he and his host 
experience a farther abasement of their being by transmutation into the image 
of the Serpent; and he and they are left with the expectation of a time when 
their supposed conquest will be snatched from them, and they will be driven in 
ignominy back to whence they came. Still, for the present, and until that 
" greater Man " arise who is to restore the human race, and be the final and 
universal victor, they are left in successful possession. Whatever the sequel is 
to be (and it is foreshadowed in vision in the two last books), the Epic has 
here reached its natural close. Its purpose was to furnish the imagination with 
such a story of transcendent construction as should connect the mysteries of 
the inconceivable and immeasurable universe anterior to Time and to Man 
with the traditions and experience of our particulaj: planet. This is accom- 
plished by fastening the imagination on one great being, supposed to belong to 
the thronging multitudes of the angelic race that peopled the Empyrean before 
our World was created; by following this being in his actions as a rebel in 
Heaven and then as an exile into Hell; and by leaving him at last so far in 
possession of the new Universe of Man that thenceforward his part as an 
Archangel is well-nigh forgotten, and he is content with his new and de- 
graded function as the Devil of mere terrestrial regions. Thenceforward 



he and his are to dwell more in these terrestrial regions, and particularly 
in the air, than in Hell — mingling themselves devihshly in human affairs, and 
even, by a splendid stroke of diabolic policy, enjoying the worship of men 
while securing their ruin, by passing themselves off as gods and demigods 
of all kinds of mongrel mythologies. That this is the main course and purport 
of the Epic will be perceived all the more clearly if the reader will note how 
much of the action, though it all bears ultimately on the fate of Earth, takes 
place away from the Earth altogether, and at a rate different from that of 
earthly causation — in the Empyrean, in Hell, in Chaos, or among the orbs and 
starry interspaces of the entire Cosmos. The portions of the poem which are 
occupied with descriptions of Eden and Paradise and the relation of events 
there are attractive from their peculiar beauty, but they amount to but a 
fragment of the whole. 

One result which ought to follow from a right understanding of the scheme 
of the Poem, as it has been here exhibited, is a truer idea of the place which 
Milton's Epic holds among the great poems of the world, and also of its rela- 
tion to his total mind and Hfe. What is that in any man which is highest, 
deepest, and most essential in him — which governs all, reveals all, gives the 
key to all that he thinks or is? What but his way of thinking or feeling, 
whatever it may be, respecting the relation or non-relation of the whole visible 
or physical world to that which is boundless, invisible, unfeatured, metaphysical? 
What he thinks or feels on this subject is essentially his philosophy; if he 
abstains from thinking on it at all, then that very abstinence is equally his 
philosophy. And what greater character can there be in a poem, or in any 
other work of art, than that it truly conveys the author's highest mind or mood 
on this subject — his theory, if he has one, or his antipathy to any theory, 
should that be the case? It may be doubted whether the world ever has 
taken a poem to its larger heart, or placed it in the list of the poems spoken 
of as great, except from a perception, more or less conscious, that it possessed, 
in a notable degree, this characteristic — that it was the expression, in some 
form or other, under whatever nominal theme, and with whatever intermixture 
of matter, of the intimate personal philosophy of a great living mind. To 
suppose, at all events, that Milton could have put forth any poem of large 
extent uninformed by his deepest and most serious philosophy of life and of 
the world, is to know nothing whatever about him. The ingenious construction 
of a fiction that should anyhow entertain the world, and which the author 
might behold floating away, detached from himself, as a beautifully-blown 
bubble — this was not his notion of poesy. Into whatever he wrote he was 
sure to put as much of himself as possible; and into that work which he 
intended to be his greatest it would have been safe to predict that he would 
studiously put the very most of himself. It would have been safe to predict 
that he would make it not only a phantasy or tale of majestic proportions, 
with which the human race might regale its leisure, but also a bequest of his 
own thoughts and speculations on the greatest subjects interesting to man — a 
kind of testament to posterity that it was thus and thus that he, Milton, veteran 
and blind, had learnt to think on such subjects, and dared advise the world 
for ever to think also. True, from the nature of the case, a poet must express 
himself on such subjects not so much in direct propositions addressed to the 
reason as in figurative conceptions, phantasmagories, or allegories, imagined 



32 INTRODUCTION TO PARADISE LOST. 



individually and connectedly in accordance with his intellectual intention. In 
as far, therefore, as Paradise Lost is an expression of Milton's habitual mode of 
thought respecting Man and History in relation to an eternal and unknown 
Infinity, it is so by way of what the Germans call Vorstelhing (popular image 
or representation), and not by way of ^<?i,v'z^ (pure or philosophic notion). 
Whether on such subjects it is possible to address the human mind at all 
except through visual or other sensuous images, and whether the most abstract 
language of philosophers consists of anything else than such images reduced to 
dust and made colourless, needs not here be inquired. Whatever might have 
been Milton's abstract theory on any such subject, it was certainly in the nature 
of his genius to express it in a Vorstellung. He had faith in this method as 
that by which the collective soul of man had been impressed and ruled in all 
ages, and would be impressed and ruled to the end of time. He more than 
once inserts in the poem passages cautioning the reader that his descriptions 
and narratives of supra-mundane scenes and events are not to be taken literally, 
but only symbolically. Thus, when the Archangel Raphael, yielding to Adam's 
request, begins, after a pause, his narration of the events that had taken place 
in the Empyrean Heaven before the creation of Man and his Universe, he is 
made (v. 563 — 576) to preface the narration with these words: — 

" High matter thou enjoin'st me, O prime of Men — 
Sad task and hard; for how shall I relate 
To human sense the invisible exploits 
Of warring Spirits? how, without remorse. 
The ruin of so many, glorious once, 
And perfect, while they stood? how last unfold 
The secrets of another world, perhaps 
Not lawful to reveal? Yet for thy good 
This is dispensed; and what surmounts the reach 
Of human sense I shall delineate so, 
By likening spiritual to corporal forms, 
As may express them best — though what if Earth 
Be but the shadow of Heaven, and things therein 
Each to other like more than on Earth is thought? " 

Let Paradise Lost, then, be called a Vorstelhing. But what a Vorstellung 
it is ! That World of Man, the world of all our stars and starry transparencies, 
hung but drop-like after all from the Empyrean; the great Empyrean itself, 
" undetermined square or round," so that, though we do diagram it for form's 
sake, it is beyond all power of diagram; Hell, far beneath but still measurably 
far, with its outcast infernal Powers tending disastrously upwards or tugging 
all downwards; finally, between the Empyrean and Hell, that blustering black- 
ness of an unimaginable Chaos, roaring around the Mundane Sphere, and 
assaulting everlastingly its outermost bosses, but unable to break through, or 
to disturb the serenity of the golden poise that steadies it from the zenith — 
what phantasmagory more truly all-significant than this has the imagination 
of poet ever conceived? What expanse of space, comparable to this for 
vastness, has any other poet presumed to occupy with a coherent story? The 
physical universe of Dante's great poem would go into a nutshell as compared 
with that to which the imagination must stretch itself out in Paradise Lost. 
In this respect — in respect of the extent of physical immensity through which 
the poem ranges, and which it orbs forth with soul-dilating clearness and 
divides with never-to-be-obhterated accuracy before the eye — no possible poem 
can ever overpass it. And then the story itself! What story mightier, or 



INTRODUCTION TO PARADISE LOST 33 

more full of meaning, can there ever be than that of the Archangel rebelling 
in Heaven, degraded from Heaven into Hell, reascending from Hell to the 
Human Universe, winging through the starry spaces of that Universe, and 
at last possessing himself of our central Earth, and impregnating its incipient 
history with the spirit of Evil? Vastness of scene and power of story 
together, little wonder that the poem should have so impressed the world. 
Little wonder that it should now be Milton's Satan, and Milton's narrative of 
the Creation in its various transcendental connexions, that are in possession 
of the British imagination, rather than the strict Biblical accounts from which 
Milton so scrupulously derived the hints to which he gave such marvellous 
expansion ! 

But will the power of the poem be permanent? Grand conception as it 
is, was it not a conception framed too much in congruity with special beliefs 
and modes of thinking of Milton's own age to retain its efticiency for ever? 
If the matters it symbolized are matters which the human imagination, and the 
reason of man in its most exalted mood, must ever strive to symbolize in some 
form or other, may not the very definiteness, the blazing visual exactness, of 
Milton's symbolization jar on modern modes of thought? Do we not desire, 
in our days also, to be left to our own liberty of symbolizing in these matters, 
and may it not be well to prefer, in the main, symbolisms the least fixed, the 
least sensuous, the most fluent and cloud-like, the most tremulous to every 
touch of new idea or new feeling? To this objection — an objection, however, 
which would apply to all great Poetry and Art whatever, and would affect the 
paintings of Michael Angelo, for example, as much as the Paradise Lost oi 
Milton — something must be conceded. Changes in human ideas since the 
poem was written have thrown the poem, or parts of it, farther out of keeping 
with the demands of the modern imagination than it can have been with the 
requirements of Milton's contemporaries. Not to speak of the direct traces 
in it of a peculiar theology in the form of speeches and arguments (in which 
kind, however, there is less that need really be obsolete than some theological 
critics have asserted), the Ptolemaism of Milton's astronomical scheme would 
alone put the poem somewhat in conflict with the educated modern conceptions 
of physical Nature. No longer now is the Mundane Universe thought of as 
a definite succession of Orbs round the globe of Earth. No longer now can 
the fancy of man be stayed at any distance, however immense, by an imaginary 
Primum Mobile or outermost shell, beyond which all is Chaos. The Primum 
Mobile has been for ever burst; and into the Chaos supposed to be beyond 
it the imagination has voyaged out and still out, finding no Chaos, and no sign 
of shore or boundary, but only the same ocean of transpicuous space, with 
firmaments for its scattered islands, and such islands still rising to view on every 
farthest horizon. Thus accustomed to the idea of Nature as boundless, the 
mind, in one of its moods, may refuse to conceive it as bounded, and may 
regard the attempt to do so as a treason against pure truth. All this must be 
conceded, though the effects of the concession will not stop at Paradise Lost. 
But there are other moods of the mind — moral and spiritual moods — which 
poesy is bound to serve; and, just as Milton, in the interest of these, know- 
ingly and almost avowedly repudiated the obligation of consistency with physical 
science as known to himself, and set up a great symbolic phantasy, so to this 
day the phantasy which he did set up has, for those anyway like-minded to 
him, lost none of its sublime significance. For all such is not that physical 



34 INTRODUCTION TO PARADISE LOST. 



Universe, which we have learnt not to bound, still, in its inconceivable totality, 
but as a drop hung from the Empyrean; is not darkness around it; is not Hell 
beneath it? And what though all are not such ? Is it not the highest function 
of a book to perpetuate like-mindedness to its author after he is gone, and 
may not Paradise Lost be doing this? Nay, and what though the relevancy 
of the poem to the present soul of the world should have been more impaired 
by the lapse of time and the change of ideas than we have admitted it to be, 
and much of the interest of it, as of all the other great poems of the world, 
should now be historical? Even so what interest it possesses! What a 
portrait, what a study, of a great English mind of the seventeenth century it 
brings before us ! "I wonder not so much at the poem itself, though worthy 
" of all wonder," says Bentley in the preface to his Edition of the poem, " as 
" that the author could so abstract his thoughts from his own troubles as to 
"be able to make it — that, confined in a narrow and to him a dark chamber, 
" surrounded with cares and fears, he could expatiate at large through the 
*' compass of the whole Universe, and through all Heaven beyond it, and 
" could survey all periods of time from before the creation to the consum- 
" mation of all things. This theory, no doubt, was a great solace to him 
" in his affliction, but it shows in him a greater strength of spirit, that made 
" him capable of such a solace. And it would almost seem to me to be 
" peculiar to him, had not experience by others taught me that there is that 
" power in the human mind, supported with innocence and conscia virtus^ 
" that can make it shake off all outward uneasiness and involve itself secure 
" and pleased in its own integrity and entertainment." It is refreshing to be 
able to quote from the great scholar and critic words showing so deep an 
appreciation by hii* of the real significance of the poem which, as an editor, 
he mangled. Whatever the Paradise Lost is, it is, as Bentley here points out, 
a monument of almost unexampled magnanimity. 



THE VERSE. 



The measure is English heroic verse without rime, as that of Homer in 
Greek, and of Virgil in Latin — rime being no necessary adjunct or true orna- 
ment of poem or good verse, in longer works especially, but the invention of 
a barbarous age, to set off wretched matter and lame metre; graced indeed 
since by the use of some famous modern poets, carried away by custom, but 
much to their own vexation, hindrance, and constraint to express many things 
otherwise, and for the most part worse, than else they would have expressed 
them. Not without cause therefore some both Italian and Spanish poets of 
prime note have rejected rime both in longer and shorter works, as have also 
long since our best English tragedies, as a thing of itself, to all judicious ears, 
trivial and of no true musical delight; which consists only in apt numbers, 
fit quantity of syllables, and the sense variously drawn out from one verse 
into another, not in the jingling sound of like endings — a fault avoided by 
the learned ancients both in poetry and all good oratory. This neglect then 
of rime so little is to be taken for a defect, though it may seem so perhaps 
to vulgar readers, that it rather is to be esteemed an example set, the first in 
English, of ancient liberty recovered to heroic poem from the troublesome 
and modern bondage of riming. 

35 



t 



COMMENDATORY VERSES, 

PREFIXED TO THE SECOND EDITION. 

IN PARADISUM AMISSAM SUMMI POET^E 
JOHANNIS MILTONI. 

Qui legis Amissam Paradisum, grandia magni 

Carmina Miltoni, quid nisi cuncta legis? 
Res cunctas, et cunctarum primordia rerum, 

Et fata, et fines, continet iste liber. 
Intima panduntur magni penetralia Mundi, 
Scribitur et toto quicquid in Orbe latet; 
Terr^que, tractusque maris, coelumque profmidum, 
Sulphuremnque Erebi flammivomumque specus; 
Quceque colunt terras, pontumque, et Tartara caeca, 

Quffique colunt summi lucida regna poli; 
Et quodcunque ullis conclusum est finibus usquam; 
Et sine fine Chaos, et sine fine Deus; 
s Et sine fine magis, si quid magis est sine fine, 
' In Christo erga homines conciliatus amor, 
Hsec qui speraret quis crederet esse futurum? 

Et tamen hrec hodie terra Britanna legit. 
O quantos in bella duces, quae protulit ^arma ! 

Quee canit, et quanta praelia dira tuba! 
Ccelestes acies, atque in certamine Coelum ! 

Et quffi ccelestes pugna deceret agros!^ 
Quantus in cctheriis tollit se Lucifer armis, 
Atque ipso graditur vix Michaele minor! 
Quantis et quam funestis concurritur iris, 

Dum ferus hie Stellas protegit, ille rapit ! 
Dum vulsos montes ceu tela reciproca torquent, 

Et non mortali desuper igne pluunt, 
Stat dubius cui se parti concedat Olympus, 

Et metuit pugnse non superesse suse. 
At simul in coe\is Messise insignia fulgent, 

Et currus animes, armaque digna Deo, 
Horrendumque rotte strident, et saeva rotarum 

Erumpunt torvis fulgura luminibus, 
Et flammre vibrant, et vera tonitrua rauco 
Admistis flammis insonuere polo, 

37 



38 COMMENDATORY VERSES. 



Excidit attonitis mens omnis, et impetus omnis, 

Et cassis dextris irrita tela cadunt; 
Ad poenas fugiunt, et, ceu foret Orcus asylum, 

Infernis certant condere se tenebris. 
Cedite, Romani Scriptores; cedite, Graii; 

Et quos fama recens vel celebravit anus : 
Hasc quicunque leget tantum cecinisse putabit 

Maeonidem ranas, Virgilium culices. 

S. B., M.D. 



ON PARADISE LOST. 

When I beheld the Poet blind, yet bold, 

In slender book his vast design unfold — 

Messiah crowned, God's reconciled decree. 

Rebelling Angels, the Forbidden Tree, 

Heaven, Hell, Earth, Chaos, All — the argument 

Held me a while misdoubting his intent, 

That he would ruin (for I saw him strong) 

The sacred truths to fable and old song 

(So Samson groped the temple's posts in spite), 

The world o'erwhelming to revenge his sight. 

Yet, as I read, soon growing less severe, 
I liked his project, the success did fear — 
Through that wide field how he his way should find 
O'er which lame Faith leads Understanding blind; 
Lest he perplexed the things he would explain, 
And what was easy he should render vain. 

Or, if a work so infinite he spanned, 
Jealous I was that some less skilful hand 
(Such as disquiet always what is well, 
And by ill-imitating would excel,) 
Might hence presume the whole Creation's day 
To change in scenes, and show it in a play. 

Pardon me, mighty Poet ; nor despise 
My causeless, yet not impious, surmise. 
But I am now convinced, and none will dare 
"Within thy labours to pretend a share. 
Thou hast not missed one thought that could be fit, 
And all that was improper dost omit; 
So that no room is here for writers left. 
But to detect their ignorance or theft. 

The majesty which through thy work doth reign 
Draws the devout, deterring the profane. 
And things divine thou treat'st of in such state 
As them preserves, and thee, inviolate. 
At once delight and horror on us seize; 



COMMENDATORY VERSES. 39 



Thou sing'st with so much gravity and ease, 
And above human flight dost soar aloft 
With plume so strong, so equal, and so soft. 
The bird named from the Paradise you sing 
So never flags, but always keeps on wing. 

Where could'st thou words of such a compass find? 
Whence furnish such a vast expense of mind? 
Just Heaven, thee like Tiresias to requite, 
Rewards with prophecy thy loss of sight. 

Well might'st thou scorn thy readers to allure 
With tinkling rime, of thy own sense secure; 
While the Town-Bayes writes all the while and spells, 
And, like a pack-horse, tires without his bells. 
Their fancies hke our bushy points appear; 
The poets tag them, we for fashion wear. 
I too, transported by the mode, ofl"end. 
And, while I meant to praise thee, must co?ntnend. 
Thy verse, created, like thy theme sublime. 
In number, weight, and measure, needs not rime. 

A. M. 



f 



PARADISE LOST: 

A POEM IN TWELVE BOOKS. 



THE AUTHOR 

JOHN MILTON. 



PARADISE LOST. 

BOOK I. 

THE ARGUMENT. 

This First Book proposes, first in brief, the whole subject — Man's disobedience, and the 
loss thereupon of Paradise, wherein he was placed: then touches the prime cause of his 
fall — the Serpent, or rather Satan in the Serpent; who, revolting from God, and drawing to 
his side many legions of Angels, was, by the command of God, driven out of Heaven, with 
all his crew, into the great Deep. Which action passed over, the Poem hastens into the 
midst of things; presenting Satan, with his Angels, now fallen into Hell — described here 
not in the Centre (for heaven and earth may be supposed as yet not made, certainly not yet 
accursed), but in a place of utter darkness, fitliest called Chaos. Here Satan, with his Angels 
lying on the burning lake, thunderstruck and astonished, after a certain space recovers, as 
from confusion; calls up him who, next in order and dignity, lay by him: they confer of 
their miserable fall. Satan awakens all his legions, who lay till then in the same manner 
confounded. They rise: their nurnbers, array of battle; their chief leaders named, accord- 
ing to the idols known afterwards in Canaan and the countries adjoining. To these Satan 
directs his speech; comforts them with hope yet of regaining Heaven; but tells them, lastly, 
of a new world and new kind of creature to be created, according to an ancient prophecy, 
or report, in Heaven — for that Angels were long before this visible creation was the opinion 
of many ancient Fathers. To find out the truth of this prophecy, and what to determine 
thereon, he refers to a full council. What his associates thence attempt. Pandemonium, the 
palace of Satan, rises, suddenly built out of the Deep: the infernal Peers there sit in council. 



o 



F Man's first disobedience, and the fruit 
Of that forbidden tree f' whose mortal taste 
Brought death into the World, and all our woe, 
With loss of Eden, till one greater Man 
Restore us, and regain the blissful seat, _ 
Sing, Heavenly Muse, that, on the secret top 
Of Oreb, or of Sinai, didst inspire 
That shepherd who first taught the chosen seed 
In the beginning how the heavens and earth 
Rose out of Chaos : or, if Sion hill lo 

Delight thee more, and Siloa's brook that flowed 
Fast by the oracle of God, I thence 
Invoke thy aid to my adventurous song, 
That with no middle flight intends to soar 
Above the Aonian mount, while it pursues 
Things unattempted yet in prose or rhyme. 

43 



44 PARADISE LOST. [Book i. 

And chiefly Thou, O Spirit, that dost prefer 

Before all temples the upright heart and pure. 

Instruct me, for Thou know'st ; Thou from the first 

Wast present, and, with mighty wings outspread, 20 

Dove-like sat'st brooding on the vast Abyss, 

And mad'st it pregnant : what in me is dark 

Illumine, what is low raise and support ; 

That, to the highth of this great argument, 

I may assert Eternal Providence, 

And justify the ways of God to men. 

Say first — for Heaven hides nothing from thy view, 
Nor the deep tract of Hell — say first what cause 
Moved our grand Parents, in that happy state, 
Favoured of Heaven so highly, to fall off 30 

From their Creator, and transgress his will 
For one restraint, lords of the World besides. 
Who first seduced them to that foul revolt? 

The infernal Serpent ; he it was whose guile, 
Stirred up with envy and revenge, deceived 
The mother of mankind, what time his pridQ 
Had cast him out from Heaven, with all his host 
Of rebel Angels, by whose aid, aspiring 
To set himself in glory above his peers, 

He trusted to have equalled the Most High, 40 

If he opposed, and, with ambitious aim 
Against the throne and monarchy of God, 
Raised impious war in Heaven and battle proud, 
With vain attempt. Him the Almighty Power 
Hurled headlong flaming from the ethereal sky, 
With hideous ruin and combustion, down 
To bottomless perdition, there to dwell 
In adamantine chains and penal fire, 
Who durst defy the Omnipotent to arms. 

Nine times the space that measures day and night 50 

To mortal men, he, with his horrid crew, 
Lay vanquished, rolling in the fiery gulf, 
Confounded, though immortal. But his doom 
Reserved him to more wrath ; for now the thought 
Both of lost happiness and lasting pain 
Torments him : round he throws his baleful eyes, 
That witnessed huge affliction and dismay. 
Mixed with obdurate pride and steadfast hate. 
At once, as far as Angel's ken, he views 

The dismal situation waste and wild. 60 

A dungeon horrible, on all sides round. 
As one great furnace flamed ; yet from those flames 
No light ; but rather darkness visible 



\ 



Book i.] PARADISE LOST. 45 

Served only to discover sights of woe, 

Regions of sorrow, doleful shades, (where peace 

And rest can never dwell,(hope never comes 

That comes to all,] but torture without end 

Still urges, and a fiery deluge, fed 

With ever-burning sulphur unconsumed. 

Such place Eternal Justice had prepared 70 

For those rebellious ; here their prison ordained 

In utter darkness, and their portion set. 

As far removed from God and light of Heaven 

As from the centre thrice to the utmost pole. 

Oh how unlike the place from whence they fell ! 

There the companions of his fall, overwhelmed 

With floods and whirlwinds of tempestuous fire, 

He soon discerns ; and, weltering by his side, 

One next himself in power, and next in crime, 

Long after known in Palestine, and named 80 

Beelzebub. To whom the Arch-Enemy, 

And thence in Heaven called Satan, with bold words 

Breaking the horrid silence, thus began : — 

"If thou beest he — but Oh how fallen ! how changed 
From him! ^— who, in the happy realms of light. 
Clothed with transcendent brightness, didst outshine 
Myriads, though bright — if he whom mutual league, 
United thoughts and counsels, equal hope 
And hazard in the glorious enterprise, 

Joined with me once, now misery hath joined 90 

In equal ruin; into what pit thou seest 
From what highth fallen : so much the stronger proved 
He with his thunder: and till then who knew 
The force of those dire arms? Yet not for those. 
Nor what the potent Victor in his rage 
Can else inflict, do I repent, or change, 
Though changed in outward lustre, that fixed mind, 
And high disdain from sense of injured merit. 
That with the Mightiest raised me to contend, 
And to the fierce contention brought along 100 

Innumerable force of Spirits armed. 
That durst dislike his reign, and, me preferring. 
His utmost power with adverse power opposed 
In dubious battle on the plains of Heaven, 
And shook his throne. What though the field be lost? 
All is not lost — the unconquerable will. 
And study of revenge, immortal hate, 
And courage never to submit or yield : 
And what is else not to be overcome. 
That glory never shall his wrath or might no 



46 PARADISE LOST. [Book i. 



Extort from me. To bow and sue for grace 

With suppliant knee, and deify his power 

Who, from the terror of this arm, so late 

Doubted his empire — that were low indeed ; 

That were an ignominy and shame beneath 

This downfall ; since, by fate, the strength of Gods, 

And this empyreal substance, cannot fail ; 

Since, through experience of this great event, 

In arms not worse, in foresight much advanced, 

We may with more successful hope resolve 120 

To wage by force or guile eternal war, 

Irreconcilable to our grand Foe, 

Who now triumphs, and in the excess of joy 

Sole reigning holds the tyranny of Heaven."" 

So spake the apostate Angel, though in pain. 
Vaunting aloud, but racked with deep despair ; 
And him thus answered soon his bold compeer : — 

"O Prince, O Chief of many throned Powers 
That led the embattled Seraphim to war 

Under thy conduct, and, in dreadful deeds 130 

Fearless, endangered Heaven's perpetual King, 
And put to proof his high supremacy. 
Whether upheld by strength, or chance, or fate! 
Too well I see and rue the dire event 
That, with sad overthrow and foul defeat. 
Hath lost us Heaven, and all this mighty host 
In horrible destruction laid thus low. 
As far as Gods and Heavenly Essences 
Can perish : for the mind and spirit remains 

Invincible, and vigour soon returns, 140 

Though all our glory extinct, and happy state 
Here swallowed up in endless misery. 
But what if He our Conqueror (whom I now 
Of force believe almighty, since no less 
Than such could have overpowered such force as ours) 
Have left us this our spirit and strength entire. 
Strongly to suffer and support our pains. 
That we may so suffice his vengeful ire, 
Or do him mightier service as his thralls 

By right of war, whate'er his business be, 150 

Here in the heart of Hell to work in fire, 
Or do his errands in the gloomy Deep? 
What can it then avail though yet we feel 
Strength undiminished, or eternal being 
To undergo eternal punishment ? " 

Whereto with speedy words the Arch-Fiend replied: — 
" Fallen Cherub, to be weak is miserable, 



Book i.] PARADISE LOST. 47 



Doing or suffering : but of this be sure — 

To do aught good never will be our task, 

But ever to do ill our sole delight, 160 

As being the contrary to His high will 

Whom we resist. If then his providence 

Out of our evil seek to bring forth good. 

Our labour must be to pervert that end, 

And out of good still to find means of evil ; 

Which ofttimes may succeed so as perhaps 

Shall grieve him, if I fail not, and disturb 

His inmost counsels from their destined aim. 

But see! the angry Victor hath recalled 

His ministers of vengeance and pursuit 170 

Back to the gates of Heaven : the sulphurous hail, 

Shot after us in storm, overblown hath laid 

The fiery surge that from the precipice 

Of Heaven received us falling ; and the thunder, 

Winged with red lightning and impetuous rage. 

Perhaps hath spent his shafts, and ceases now 

To bellow through the vast and boundless Deep. 

Let us not slip the occasion, whether scorn 

Or satiate fury yield it from our Foe. 

Seest thou yon dreary plain, forlorn and wild, 180 

The seat of desolation, void of light, 

Save what the glimmering of these livid flames 

Casts pale and dreadful? Thither let us tend 

From off the tossing of these fiery waves ; 

There rest, if any rest can harbour there ; 

And, re-assembling our afflicted powers. 

Consult how we may henceforth most offend 

Our enemy, our own loss how repair. 

How overcome this dire calamity. 

What reinforcement we may gain from hope, 190 

If not what resolution from despair." 

Thus Satan, talking to his nearest mate. 
With head uplift above the wave, and eyes 
That sparkling blazed ; his other parts besides 
Prone on the flood, extended long and large. 
Lay floating many a rood, in bulk as huge 
As whom the fables name of monstrous size, 
Titanian or Earth-born, that warred on Jove, 
Briareos or T3qDhon, whom the den 

By ancient Tarsus held, or that sea-beast 200 

Leviathan, which God of all his works 
Created hugest that swim the ocean-stream. 
Him, haply slumbering on the Norway foam. 
The pilot of some small night-foundered skiff, 



Deeming some island, oft, as seamen tell, 

With fixed anchor in his scaly rind, 

Moors by his side under the lee, while night 

Invests the sea, and wished morn delays. 

So stretched out huge in length the Arch-Fiend lay, 

Chained on the burning lake; nor ever thence 210 

Had risen, or heaved his head, but that the will 

And high permission of all-ruling Heaven 

Left him at large to his own dark designs, 

That with reiterated crimes he might 

Heap on himself damnation, while he sought 

Evil to others, and enraged might see 

How all his malice served but to bring forth 

Infinite goodness, grace, and mercy, shewn 

On Man by him seduced, but on himself 

Treble confusion, wrath, and vengeance poured. 220 

Forthwith upright he rears from off the pool 
His mighty stature ; on each hand the flames 
Driven backward slope their pointing spires, and, rolled 
In billows, leave i^ the midst a horrid vale. 
Then with expanded wings he steers his flight 
Aloft, incumbent on the dusky air. 
That felt unusual weight ; till on dry land 
He lights — if it were land that ever burned 
With solid, as the lake with liquid fire, 

And such appeared in hue as when the force 230 

Of subterranean wind transports a hill 
Torn from Pelorus, or the shattered side 
Of thundering ^tna, whose combustible 
And fuelled entrails, thence conceiving fire. 
Sublimed with mineral fury, aid the winds. 
And leave a singed bottom all involved 
With stench and smoke. Such resting found the sole 
Of unblest feet. Him followed his next mate ; 
Both glorying to have scaped the Stygian flood 
As gods, and by their own recovered strength, 240 

Not by the sufferance of supernal power. 

" Is this the region, this the soil, the clime," 
Said then the lost Archangel, " this the seat 
That we must change for Heaven? — this mournful gloom ' 
For that celestial light? Be it so, since He 
Who now is sovran can dispose and bid 
What shall be right : farthest from Him is best. 
Whom reason hath equalled, force hath made supreme 
Above his equals, t- Farewell, happy fields. 

Where joy for ever dwells! Hail, horrors! hail, 250 

Infernal World! and thou, profoundest Hell, 



Book i.] PARADISE LOST. 49 

Receive thy new possessor — one who brings 
A mind not to be changed by place or time. )) 
/fThe mind is its own place, and in itself 
Can make a Heaven of Hell, a Hell of Heaven. /y 
What matter where, if I be still the same. 
And what I should be, all but less than he 
Whom thunder hath made greater? Here at least 
We shall be free ; the Almighty hath not built 
Here for his envy, will not drive us hence : 260 

Here we may reign secure ; and, in my choice, 
To reign is worth ambition, though in Hell : 
^^Better to reign in Hell than serve in Heaven.^' 
But wherefore let we then our faithful friends, 
The associates and co-partners of our loss, 
Lie thus astonished on the oblivious pool, 
And call them not to share with us their part 
In this unhappy mansion, or once more 
With rallied arms to try what may be yet 
Regained in Heaven, or what more lost in Hell?" 270 

So Satan spake ; and him Beelzebub 
Thus answered: — "Leader of those armies bright 
Which, but the Omnipotent, none could have foiled ! 
If once they hear that voice, their liveliest pledge 
Of hope in fears and dangers — heard so oft 
In worst extremes, and on the perilous edge 
Of battle, when it raged, in all assaults 
Their surest signal — they will soon resume 
New courage and revive, though now they lie 
Grovelling and prostrate on yon lake of fire, 280 

As we erewhile, astounded and amazed ; 
No wonder, fallen such a pernicious highth ! " 

He scarce had ceased when the superior Fiend 
Was moving toward the shore ; his ponderous shield, 
Ethereal temper, massy, large, and round. 
Behind him cast. The broad circumference 
Hung on his shoulders like the moon, whose orb 
Through optic glass the Tuscan artist views 
At evening, from the top of Fesole, 

Or in Valdarno, to descry new lands, 290 

Rivers, or mountains, in her spotty globe. 
His spear — to equal which the tallest pine 
Hewn on Norwegian hills, to be the mast 
Of some great ammiral, were but a wand — 
He walked with, to support uneasy steps 
Over the burning marie, not like those steps 
On Heaven^s azure ; and the torrid clime 
Smote on him sore besides, vaulted with fire. 



50 PARADISE LOST. [Book i. 



Nathless he so endured, till on the beach 

Of that inflamed sea he stood, and called 300 

^His legions — Angel Forms, v/ho lay entranced 

Thick as autumnal leaves that strovv the brooks 

In Vallombrosa, where the Etrurian shades 

High over-arched embower ; or scattered sedge 

Afloat, when with fierce winds Orion armed 

Hath vexed the Red-Sea coast, whose waves overthrew 

Busiris and his Memphian chivalry, 

While with perfidious hatred they pursued 

The sojourners of Goshen, who beheld 

From the safe shore their floating carcases 310 

And broken chariot-wheels. So thick bestrown, 

Abject and lost, lay these, covering the flood, 

Under amazement of their hideous change. 
pHe called so loud that all the hollow deep 

Of Hell resounded: — "Princes, Potentates, 

Warriors, the Flower of Heaven — once yours; now lost, 

If such astonishment as this can seize 

Eternal Spirits! Or have ye chosen this place 

After the toil of battle to repose 

Your wearied virtue, for the ease you find 320 

To slumber here, as in the vales of Heaven? 

Or in this abject posture have ye sworn 

To adore the Conqueror, who now beholds 

Cherub and Seraph rolling in the flood 

With scattered arms and ensigns, till anon 

His swift pursuers from Heaven-gates discern 

The advantage, and, descending, tread us down 

Thus drooping, or with linked thunderbolts 

Transfix us to the bottom of this gulf? — 

Awake, arise, or be for ever fallen! " r, 330 

They heard, and were abashed, and up they sprung 

Upon the wing, as when men wont to watch. 

On duty sleeping found by whom they dread, 

Rouse and bestir themselves ere well awake. 

Nor did they not perceive the evil plight 

In which they were, or the fierce pains not feel ; 

Yet to their GeneraPs voice they soon obeyed 

Innumerable. As when the potent rod 

Of Amram's son, in Egypt's evil day. 

Waved round the coast, up-called a pitchy cloud 340 

Of locusts, warping on the eastern wind. 

That o'er the realm of impious Pharaoh hung 

Like Night, and darkened all the land of Nile ; 

So numberless were those bad Angels seen 



Hovermg on wmg under the cope of Hell, 



Book I.] PARADISE LOST. 51 

'Twixt upper, nether, and surrounding fires ; 

Till, as a signal given, the uplifted spear 

Of their great Sultan waving to direct 

Their course, in even balance down they light 

On the firm brimstone, and fill all the plain : 350 

A multitude like which the populous North 

Poured never from her frozen loins to pass 

Rhene or the Danaw, when her barbarous sons 

Came like a deluge on the South, and spread 

Beneath Gibraltar to the Libyan sands. 

Forthwith, from every squadron and each band. 

The heads and leaders thither haste where stood 

Their great Commander — godlike Shapes, and Forms 

Excelling human ; princely Dignities ; 

And Powers that erst in Heaven sat on thrones, 360 

Though of their names in Heavenly records now 

Be no memorial, blotted out and rased 

By their rebellion from the Books of Life. 

Nor had they yet among the sons of Eve 

Got them new names, till, wandering o^er the earth, 

Through God's high suiTerance for the trial of man, 

By falsities and lies the greatest part 

Of mankind they corrupted to forsake 

God their Creator, and the invisible 

Glory of Him that made them to transform 370 

Oft to the image of a brute, adorned 

With gay religions full of pomp and gold. 

And devils to adore for deities : 

Then were they known to men by various names. 

And various idols through the Heathen World. 

Say, Muse, their names then known, who first, who last. 
Roused from the slumber on that fiery couch, 
At their great Emperor's call, as next in worth 
Came singly where he stood on the bare strand. 
While the promiscuous crowd stood yet aloof. 380 

The chief were those who, from the pit of Hell 
Roaming to seek their prey on Earth, durst fix 
Their seats, long after, next the seat of God, 
Their altars by His altar, gods adored 
Among the nations round, and durst abide 
Jehovah thundering out of Sion, throned 
Between the Cherubim ; yea, often placed 
Within His sanctuary itself their shrines. 
Abominations ; and with cursed things 

His holy rites and solemn feasts profaned, 390 

And with their darkness durst affront His light. 
First, Moloch, horrid king, besmeared with blood 



52 PARADISE LOST. [Book i. 

Of human sacrifice, and parents' tears; 

Though, for the noise of drums and timbrels loud. 

Their children's cries unheard that passed through fire 

To his grim idol. Him the Ammonite 

Worshiped in Rabba and her watery plain, 

In Argob and in Basan, to the stream 

Of utmost Arnon. Nor content with such 

Audacious neighbourhood, the wisest heart 400 

Of Solomon he led by fraud to build 

His temple right against the temple of God 

On that opprobrious hill, and made his grove 

The pleasant valley of Hinnom, Tophet thence 

And black Gehenna called, the type of Hell. 

Next Che?nos, the obscene dread of Moab's sons, 

From Aroar to Nebo and the wild 

Of southmost Abarim ; in Hesebon 

And Horonaim, Seon's realm, beyond 

The flowery dale of Sibma clad with vines, 410 

And Eleale to the Asphaltic Pool : 

Peor his other name, when he enticed 

Israel in Sittim, on their march from Nile, 

To do him wanton rites, which cost them woe. 

Yet thence his lustful orgies he enlarged 

Even to that hill of scandal, by the grove 

Of Moloch homicide, lust hard by hate, 

Till good Josiah drove them thence to Hell. 

With these came they who, from the bordering flood 

Of old Euphrates to the brook that parts 420 

Egypt from Syrian ground, had general names 

Ot Baalim and Ashtaroth — those male. 

These feminine. For Spirits, when they please. 

Can either sex assume, or both ; so soft 

And uncompounded is their essence pure. 

Not tied or manacled with joint or limb, 

Nor founded on the brittle strength of bones, 

Like cumbrous flesh ; but, in what shape they choose, 

Dilated or condensed, bright or obscure, 

Can execute their aery purposes, 430 

And works of love or enmity fulfil. 

For those the race of Israel oft forsook 

Their Living Strength, and unfrequented left 

His righteous altar, bowing lowly down 

To bestial gods ; for which their heads, as low 

Bowed down in battle, sunk before the spear 

Of despicable foes. With these in troop 

Came Astorelh, whom the Phoenicians called 

Astarte, queen of heaven, with crescent horns; 



Book i.] PARADISE LOST. 53 

To whose bright image nightly by the moon 440 

Sidonian virgins paid their vows and songs ; 

In Sion also not unsung, where stood 

Her temple on the offensive mountain, built 

By that uxorious king whose heart, though large, 

Beguiled by fair idolatresses, fell 

To idols foul. Thamiimz came next behind, 

Whose annual wound in Lebanon allured 

The Syrian damsels to lament his fate 

In amorous ditties all a summer's day, \ 

While smooth Adonis from his native rock 450 i 

Ran purple to the sea, supposed with blood \ 

Of Thammuz yearly wounded : the love-tale \ 

Infected Sion's daughters with like heat, \ 

Whose wanton passions in the sacred porch | 

Ezekiel saw, when, by the vision led, \ 

His eye surveyed the dark idolatries I 

Of alienated Judah. Next came one \ 

Who mourned in earnest, when the captive ark 

Maimed his brute image, head and hands lopt off, 

In his own temple, on the grunsel-edge, 460 

Where he fell flat and shamed his worshipers : 

Dagon his name, sea-monster, upward man 

And downward fish ; yet had his temple high 

Reared in Azotus, dreaded through the coast 

Of Palestine, in Gath and Ascalon, 

And Accaron and Gaza's frontier bounds. 

Him followed Riminon, w-hose delightful seat 

Was fair Damascus, on the fertile banks 

Of Abbana and Pharphar, lucid streams. 

He also against the house of God was bold : 470 

A leper once he lost, and gained a king — 

Ahaz, his sottish conqueror, whom he drew 

God's altar to disparage and displace 

For one of Syrian mode, whereon to burn 

His odious offerings, and adore the gods 

Whom he had vanquished. After these appeared 

A crew who, under names of old renown — 

Osiris, Isis, Orits, and their train — 

With monstrous shapes and sorceries abused 

Fanatic Egypt and her priests to seek 480 

Their wandering gods disguised in brutish forms 

Rather than human. Nor did Israel scape 

The infection, when their borrowed gold composed 

The calf in Oreb ; and the rebel king 

Doubled that sin in Bethel and in Dan, 



Likening his Maker to the grazed ox 



^ 



54 PARADISE LOST. [Book i. 

Jehovah, who, in one night, when he passed 

From Egypt marching, equalled with one stroke 

Both her first-born and all her bleating gods. 

Belial came last ; than whom a Spirit more lewd 490 

Fell not from Heaven, or more gross to love 

Vice for itself. To him no temple stood 

Or altar smoked ; yet who more oft than he 

In temples and at altars, when the priest 

Turns atheist, as did Eli's sons, who filled 

With lust and violence the house of God? 

In courts and palaces he also reigns, 

And in luxurious cities, where the noise 

Of riot ascends above their loftiest towers, 

And injury and outrage ; and, when night 500 

Darkens the streets, then wander forth the sons 

Of Belial, flown wdth insolence and wine. 

Witness the streets of Sodom, and that night 

In Gibeah, where the hospitable door 

Exposed a matron, to avoid worse rape. 

These were the prime in order and in might : 
The rest were long to tell ; though far renowned 
The Ionian gods — of Javan"'s issue held 
Gods, yet confessed later than Heaven and Earth, 
Their boasted parents; — Titati, Heaven's first-born, 510 

With his enormous brood, and birthright seized 
By younger Saturn : he from mightier Jove, 
His own and Rhea's son, like measure found ; 
So Jove usurping reigned. These, first in Crete 
And Ida known, thence on the snowy top 
Of cold Olympus ruled the middle air. 
Their highest heaven ; or on the Delphian cliff, 
Or in Dodona, and through all the bounds 
Of Doric land ; or who with Saturn old 

Fled over Adria to the Hesperian fields, 520 

And o'er the Celtic roamed the utmost Isles. 

All these and more came flocking ; but with looks 
Downcast and damp ; yet such wherein appeared 
Obscure some glimpse of joy to have found their Chief 
Not in despair, to have found themselves not lost 
In loss itself; which on his countenance cast 
Like doubtful hue. But he, his wonted pride 
Soon recollecting, with high words, that bore 
Semblance of worth, not substance, gently raised 
Their fainting courage, and dispelled their fears : 530 

Then straight commands that, at the warlike sound 
Of trumpets loud and clarions, be upreared 
His mighty standard. That proud honour claimed 



Book i.] PARADISE LOST. 55 



Azazel as his right, a Cherub tall : 

Who forthwith from the glittering staff unfurled 

The imperial ensign ; which, full high advanced, 

Shone like a meteor streaming to the wind. 

With gems and golden lustre rich emblazed. 

Seraphic arms and trophies ; all the while 

Sonorous metal blowing martial sounds : • 540 

At which the universal host up-sent 

A shout that tore Hell's concave, and beyond 

Frighted the reign of Chaos and old Night. 

All in a moment through the gloom were seen 

Ten thousand banners rise into the air. 

With orient colours waving : w'ith them rose 

A forest huge of spears ; and thronging helms 

Appeared, and serried shields in thick array 

Of depth immeasurable. Anon they move 

In perfect phalanx to the Dorian mood 550 

Of flutes and soft recorders — such as raised 

To highth of noblest temper heroes old 

Arming to battle, and instead of rage 

Deliberate valour breathed, firm, and unmoved 

With dread of death ^m flight or foul retreat ; 

Nor wanting power to mitigate and swage 

With solemn touches troubled thoughts, and chase 

Anguish and doubt and fear and sorrow and pain 

From mortal or immortal minds. Thus they. 

Breathing united force with fixed thought, 560 

Moved on in silence to soft pipes that charmed 

Their painful steps o'er the burnt soil. And now 

Advanced in view they stand — a horrid front 

Of dreadful length and dazzling arms, in guise 

Of warriors old, with ordered spear and shield. 

Awaiting what command their mighty Chief 

Had to impose. He through the armed files 

Darts his experienced eye, and soon traverse 

The whole battalion views — their order due. 

Their visages and stature as of gods ; 570 

Their number last he sums. And now his heart 

Distends with pride, and, hardening in his strength. 

Glories : for never, since created Man, 

Met such embodied force as, named with these, 

Could merit more than that small infantry 

Warred on by cranes — though all the giant brood 

Of Phlegra with the heroic race were joined 

That fought at Thebes and Ilium, on each side 

Mixed with auxiliar gods ; and what resounds 

In fable or romance of Uther's son, 580 



56 



PARADISE LOST. 



[Book i. 



Signs of remorse and passion, to behold 
The fellows of his crime, the followers rather 
(Far other once beheld in bliss), condemned 
For ever now to have their lot in pain — 
Millions of Spirits for his fault amerced 
Of Heaven, and from eternal splendours flung 
For his revolt — yet faithful how they stood. 
Their glory withered ; as, when heaven's fire 
Hath scathed the forest oaks or mountain pines, 
With singed top their stately growth, though bare, 
Stands on the blasted heath. He now prepared 
To speak ; whereat their doubled ranks they bend 
From wing to wing, and half enclose him round 
With all his peers : attention held them mute. 
Thrice he assayed, and thrice, in spite of scorn. 
Tears, such as Angels weep, burst forth : at last 
Words interwove with sighs found out their way : — 

"O myriads of immortal Spirits! O Powers 
Matchless, but with the Almighty! — and that strife 
Was not inglorious, though the event was dire, 
As this place testifies, and this dire change, 
Hateful to utter. But what power of mind. 
Foreseeing or presaging, from the depth 



590 



Begirt with British and Armoric knights ; 
And all who since, baptized or infidel. 
Jousted in Aspramont, or Montalban, 
Damasco, or Marocco, or Trebisond, 
Or whom Biserta sent from Afric shore ^ 
When Charlemain with all his peerage fell 
By Fontarabbia. Thus far these beyond 
Compare of mortal prowess, yet observed 
Their dread Commander. He, above the rest 
In shape and gesture proudly eminent, 
Stood like a tower. His form had yet not lost 
All her 'original brightness, nor appeared 
Less than Archangel ruined, and the excess 
Of glory obscured : as when the sun new-risen 
Looks through the horizontal misty air 
Shorn of his beams, or, from behind the moon, 
In dim eclipse, disastrous twilight sheds 
On half the nations, and with fear of change 
Perplexes monarchs. Darkened so, yet shone 
Above them all the Archangel : but his face 
Deep scars of thunder had intrenched, and care 
Sat on his faded cheek, but under brows • 
Of dauntless courage, and considerate pride 
Waiting revenge. Cruel his eye, but cast 



600 



610 



620 



Book i.] 



PARADISE LOST. 57 



Of knowledge past or present, could have feared 

How such united force of gods, how such 

As stood like these, could ever know repulse? G30 

For who can yet believe, though after loss, 

That all these puissant legions, whose exile 

Hath emptied Heaven, shall fail to re-ascend, 

Self-raised, and re-possess their native seat? 

For me, be witness all the host of Heaven, 

If counsels different, or danger shunned 

By me, have lost our hopes. But he who reigns 

Monarch in Heaven till then as one secure 

Sat on his throne, upheld by old repute. 

Consent or custom, and his regal state 040 

Put forth at full, but still his strength concealed — 

Which tempted our attempt, and wrought our fall. 

Henceforth his might we know, and know our own, 

So as not either to provoke, or dread 

New war provoked: our better part remains 

To work in close design, by fraud or guile, 

What force effected not; that he no less 

At length from us may find. Who overcomes 

By force hath overcome but half his foe. 

Space may produce new Worlds ; whereof so rife 65° 

There went a fame in Heaven that He ere long 

Intended to create, and therein plant 

A creneration whom his choice regard 

ShSuld favour equal to the Sons of Heaven. 

Thither, if but to pry, shall be perhaps 

Our first eruption — thither, or elsewhere; 

For this infernal pit shall never hold 

Celestial Spirits in bondage, nor the Abyss 

Long under darkness cover. But these thoughts 

Full counsel must mature. Peace is despaired ; Obo 

For who can think submission? War then, war 

Open or understood, must be resolved. 

He spake ; and, to confirm his words, out-flew 

Millions of flaming swords, drawn from the thighs 

Of mic^htv Cherubim ; the sudden blaze 

Far round illumined Hell. Highly they raged 

Against the Highest, and fierce with grasped arms 
Clashed on their sounding shields the din of war, 
HurUng defiance toward the vault of Heaven. 

There stood a hill not far, whose grisly top o/o 

Belched fire and roUing smoke ; the rest entire 
Shone with a glossy scurf— undoubted sign 
That in his womb was hid metalhc ore. 
The work of sulphur. Thither, winged with speed, 



A numerous brigad hastened : as when bands 

Of pioneers, with spade and pickaxe armed, 

Forenm the royal camp, to trench a field, 

Or cast a rampart. Mammon led them on — 

Mammon, the least erected Spirit that fell 

From Heaven ; for even in Heaven his looks and thoughts 680 

Were always downward bent, admiring more 

The riches of Heaven's pavement, trodden gold, 

Than aught divine or holy else enjoyed 

In vision beatific. By him first 

Men also, and by his suggestion taught. 

Ransacked the Centre, and with impious hands 

Rifled the bowels of their mother Earth 

For treasures better hid. Soon had his crew 

Opened into the hill a spacious wound. 

And digged out ribs of gold. Let none admire 690 

That riches grow in Hell; that soil may best 

Deserve the precious bane. And here let those 

Who boast in mortal things, and wondering tell 

Of Babel, and the works of Memphian kings. 

Learn how their greatest monuments of fame, 

And strength, and art, are easily outdone 

By Spirits reprobate, and in an hour 

What in an age they, with incessant toil 

And hands innumerable, scarce perform. 

Nigh on the plain, in many cells prepared, 700 

That underneath had veins of liquid fire 

Sluiced from the lake, a second multitude 

With wondrous art founded the massy ore. 

Severing each kind, and scummed the bullion-dross. 

A third as soon had formed within the ground 

A various mould, and from the boiling cells 

By strange conveyance filled each hollow nook ; 

As in an organ, from one blast of wind. 

To many a row of pipes the sound-board breathes. 

Anon out of the earth a fabric huge 710 

Rose like an exhalation, with the sound 

Of dulcet symphonies and voices sweet — 

Built like a temple, where pilasters round 

Were set, and Doric pillars overlaid 

With golden architrave ; nor did there want 

Cornice or frieze, with bossy sculptures graven : 

The roof was fretted gold. Not Babylon 

Nor great Alcairo such magnificence 

Equalled in all their glories, to enshrine 

Belus or Serapis their gods, or seat 720 

Their kings, when Egypt with Assyria strove 



Book i.] PARADISE LOST. 59 

In wealth and luxury. The ascending pile 
Stood fixed her stately highth ; and straight the doors, 
Opening their brazen folds, discover, wide 
Within, her ample spaces o'er the smooth 
And level pavement : from the arched roof. 
Pendent by subtle magic, many a row 
Of starry lamps and blazing cressets, fed 
With naphtha and asphaltus, yielded light 

As from a sky. The hasty multitude 730 

Admiring entered ; and the work some praise, 
And some the architect. His hand was known 
In Heaven by many a towered structure high, 
Where sceptred Angels held their residence, 
And sat as Princes, whom the supreme King 
Exalted to such power, and gave to mle. 
Each in his hierarchy, the Orders bright. 
Nor was his name unheard or unadored 
In ancient Greece ; and in Ausonian land 

Men called him Mulciber ; and how he fell 740 

From Heaven they fabled, thrown by angry Jove 
^ Sheer o'er the crystal battlements :(from morn 
To noon he fell, from noon to dewy eve, 
A summer's day, and with the setting sun 
Dropt from the zenith, like a falling star. 
On Lemnos, the ^gaean isle. Thus they relate. 
Erring ; for he with this rebellious rout 
Fell long before ; nor aught availed him now 
To have built in Heaven high towers ; nor did he scape 
By all his engines, but was "headlong sent, 750 

With his industrious crew, to build in Hell. 

Meanwhile the winged Haralds, by command 
Of sovran power, with awful ceremony 
And trumpet's sound, throughout the' host proclaim 
A solemn council forthwith to be held 
At Pandemonium, the high capital 
Of Satan and his peers. Their summons called 
From every band and squared regiment 
By place or choice the worthiest : they anon 

With hundreds and with thousands trooping came 760 

Attended. All access was thronged ; the gates 
And porches wide, but chief the spacious hall 
(Though like a covered field, where champions bold 
Wont ride in armed, and at the Soldan's chair 
Defied the best of Panim chivalry 
To_ mortal combat, or career with lance). 
Thick swarmed, both on the ground and in the air, 
Bmshed with the hiss of rustlins: wings. As bees 



6o PARADISE LOST. [Book i. 



In spring-time, when the Sun with Taums rides, 

Pour forth their populous youth about the hive 770 

In clusters ; they among fresh dews and flowers 

Fly to and fro, or on the smoothed plank, 

The suburb of their straw-built citadel. 

New rubbed with balm, expatiate, and confer 

Their state-affairs : so thick the aery crowd 

Swarmed and were straitened ; till, the signal given, 

Behold a wonder! They but now who seemed 

In bigness to surpass Earth's giant sons. 

Now less than smallest dwarfs, in narrow room 

Throng numberless — like that pygmean race 780 

Beyond the Indian mount ; or faery elves, 

Whose midnight revels, by a forest-side 

Or fountain, some belated peasant sees. 

Or dreams he sees, while overhead the Moon 

Sits arbitress, and nearer to the Earth 

Wheels her pale course : they, on their mirth and dance 

Intent, with jocund music charm his ear ; 

At once with joy and fear his heart rebounds. 

Thus incorporeal Spirits to smallest forms 

Reduced their shapes immense, and were at large, 790 

Though without number still, amidst the hall 

Of that infernal court. But far within, 

And in their own dimensions like themselves, 

The great Seraphic Lords and Cherubim 

In close recess and secret conclave sat. 



Frequent and full. After short silence then. 
And summons read, the great consult began. 



THE END OF THE FIRST BOOK. 



PARADISE LOST. 



BOOK II. 



THE ARGUMENT. 

The consultation begun, Satan debates whether another battle be to be hazarded for the 
recovery of Heaven: some advise it, others dissuade. A third proposal is preferred, men- 
tioned before by Satan — to search the truth of that prophecy or tradition in Heaven concern- 
ing another world, and another kind of creature, equal, or not much inferior, to themselves, 
about this time to be created. Their doubt who shall be sent on this difficult search: Satan, 
their chief, undertakes alone the voyage; is honoured and applauded. The council thus 
ended, the rest betake them several ways and to several employments, as their inclinations 
lead them, to entertain the time till Satan return. He passes on his journey to Hell-gates; 
finds them shut, and who sat there to guard them; by whom at length they are opened, and 
discover to him the great gulf between Hell and Heaven. With what difficulty he passes 
through, directed by Chaos, the Power of that place, to the sight of this new World which he 
sought. 

HIGH on a throne of royal state, which far 
Outshone the wealth of Ormus and of Ind, 
Or where the gorgeous East with richest hand 
Showers on her kings barbaric pearl and gold, 
Satan exalted sat, by merit raised 
To that bad eminence ; and, from despair 
Thus high uplifted beyond hope, aspires 
Beyond thus high, insatiate to pursue 
Vain war with Heaven ; and, by success untaught, 
His proud imaginations thus displayed: — lo 

"Powers and Dominions, Deities of Heaven! — 
For, since no deep within her gulf can hold 
Immortal vigour, though oppressed and fallen, 
I give not Heaven for lost : from this descent 
Celestial Virtues rising will appear 
More glorious and more dread than from no fall, 
And trust themselves to fear no second fate! — 
Me though just right, and the fixed laws of Heaven, 
Did first create your leader — next, free choice. 
With what besides in council or in fight 20 

Hath been achieved of merit — yet this loss. 
Thus far at least recovered, hath much more 

61 



62 PARADISE LOST. [Book ii. 



Established in a safe, linenvied throne, 

Yielded with full consent. The happier state 

In Heaven, which follows dignity, might draw 

Envy from each inferior; but who here 

Will envy whom the highest place exposes 

Foremost to stand against the Thunderer's aim 

Your bulwark, and condemns to greatest share 

Of endless pain? Where there is, then, no good 30 

For which to strive, no strife can grow up there 

From faction : for none sure will claim in Hell 

Precedence ; none whose portion is so small 

Of present pain that wdth ambitious mind 

Will covet more! W^ith this advantage, then, 

To union, and firm faith, and firm accord, 

More than can be in Heaven, we now return 

To claim our just inheritance of old. 

Surer to prosper than prosperity 

Could have assured us ; and by what best way, 40 

Whether of open war or covert guile. 

We now debate. Who can advise may speak." 

He ceased ; and next him Moloch, sceptred king, 
Stood up — the strongest and the fiercest Spirit 
That fought in Heaven, now fiercer by despair. 
His trust was with the Eternal to be deemed 
Equal in strength, and rather than be less 
Cared not to be at all; with that care lost 
Went all his fear: of God, or Hell, or worse. 
He recked not, and these words thereafter spake : — 50 

"My sentence is for open war. Of wiles. 
More unexpert, I boast not : them let those 
Contrive who need, or when they need ; not now. 
For, while they sit contriving, shall the rest — 
Millions that stand in arms, and longing wait 
The signal to ascend — sit lingering here. 
Heaven's fugitives, and for their dwelling-place 
Accept this dark opprobrious den of shame, 
The prison of His tyranny who reigns 

By our delay? No! let us rather choose, 60 

Armed with Hell-flames and fury, all at once 
O'er Heaven's high towers to force resistless way, 
Turning our tortures into horrid arms 
Against the Torturer; when, to meet the noise 
Of his almighty engine, he shall hear 
Infernal thunder, and, for lightning, see 
Black fire and horror shot with equal rage 
Among his Angels, and his throne itself 
Mixed with Tartarean sulphur and strange fire, 



Book ii.] PARADISE LOST. 63 

His own invented torments. But perhaps 70 

The way seems difficult, and steep to scale 
With upright wing against a higher foe! 
Let such bethink them, if the sleepy drench 
Of that forgetful lake benumb not still. 
That in our proper motion we ascend 
Up to our native seat ; descent and fall 
To us is adverse. Who but felt of late. 
When the fierce foe hung on our broken rear 
Insulting, and pursued us through the Deep, 

With what compulsion and laborious flight 80 

We sunk thus low? The ascent is easy, then; 
The event is feared! Should we again provoke 
Our stronger, some worse way his wrath may find 
To our destruction, if there be in Hell 
Fear to be worse destroyed! What can be worse 
Than to dwell here, driven out from bhss, condemned 
In this abhorred deep to utter woe ; 
• Where pain of unextinguishable fire 
Must exercise us without hope of end 

The vassals of his anger, when the scourge 90 

Inexorably, and the torturing hour. 
Calls us to penance? More destroyed than thus, 
We should be quite abolished, and expire. 
What fear we then? what doubt we to incense 
His utmost ire? which, to the highth enraged, 
Will either quite consume us, and reduce 
To nothing this essential — happier far 
Than miserable to have eternal being ! — 
Or, if our substance be indeed divine, 

And cannot cease to be, we are at worst 100 

On this side nothing ; and by proof we feel 
Our power sufficient to disturb his Heaven, 
And with perpetual inroads to alarm, 
Though inaccessible, his fatal throne : 
Which, if not victory, is yet revenge." 

He ended frowning, and his look denounced 
Desperate revenge, and battle dangerous 
To less than gods. On the other side up rose 
Belial, in act more graceful and humane. 

A fairer person lost not Heaven; he seemed no 

For dignity composed, and high exploit. 
But all was false and hollow ; though his tongue 
Dropt manna, and could make the worse appear 
The better reason, to perplex and dash 
Maturest counsels": for his thoughts were low — 
To vice industrious, but to nobler deeds 



4 



64 PARADISE LOST.\ [Book ii. 



I Timorous and slothful. Yet he pleased the ear, 

I And with persuasive accent thus began: — 

% "I should be much for open war, O Peers, 

I As not behind in hate, if what was urged 120 

f Main reason to persuade immediate war 

\ Did not dissuade me most, and seem to cast 

i Ominous conjecture on the whole success ; 

I When he who most excels in fact of arms, 

I In what he counsels and in what excels 

\ Mistrustful, grounds his courage on despair 

\ And utter dissolution, as the scope 

I Of all his aim, after some dire revenge. 

■-; First, what revenge? The towers of Heaven are filled 

\ With armed watch, that render all access 130 

\ Impregnable: oft on the bordering Deep 

i Encamp their legions, or with obscure wing 

I Scout far and wide into the realm of Night, 

\ Scorning surprise. Or, could we break our way 

I By force, and at our heels all Hell should rise 

\ With blackest insurrection to confound 

% Heaven's purest light, yet our great Enemy, 

s All incorruptible, would on his throne 

Sit unpolluted, and the ethereal mould, 

Incapable of stain, would soon expel 140 

Her mischief, and purge off the baser fire, 

Victorious. Thus repulsed, our final hope 

Is flat despair: we must exasperate 

The Almighty Victor to spend all his rage; 

And that must end us ; that must be our cure — 

To be no more. Sad cure! for who would lose, 
I Though full of pain, this intellectual being, 

I . Those thoughts that wander through eternity, 
I ' To perish rather, sAvallowed up and lost 
f In the wide v/omb of uncreated Night, 150 

Devoid of sense and motion? And who knows, 

Let this be good, whether our angry Foe 

Can give it, or will ever? How he can 

Is doubtful; that he never will is sure. 

Will He, so wise, let loose at once his ire, 

Belike through impotence or unaware. 

To give his enemies their wish, and end 

Them in his anger whom his anger saves 

To punish endless? 'Wherefore cease we, then?' 

Say they who counsel war; 'we are decreed, 160 

Reserved, and destined to eternal woe ; 

Whatever doing, what can we suffer more. 

What can we suffer worse?' Is this, then, worst — 



Book ii.] PARADISE LOST. 65 

Thus sitting, thus consulting, thus in arms? 

What when we tied amain, pursued and strook 

With Heaven's afflicting thunder, and besought 

The Deep to shelter us? This Hell then seemed 

A refuge from those wounds. Or when we lay 

Chained on the burning lake? That sure w^as worse. 

What if the breath that kindled those grim fires, 170 

Awaked, should blow them into sevenfold rage, 

And plunge us in the flames ; or from above 

Should intermitted vengeance arm again 

His red right hand to plague us? What if all 

Her stores were opened, and this firmament 

Of Hell should spout her cataracts of fire, 

Impendent horrors, threatening hideous fall 

One day upon our heads ; while Ave perhaps, 

Designing or exhorting glorious war, 

Caught in a fiery tempest, shall be hurled, 180 

Each on his rock transfixed, the sport and prey 

Of racking whirlwinds, or for ever sunk 

Under yon boiling ocean, wrapt in chains, 

There to converse with everlasting groans, 

Unrespited, unpitied, unreprieved, 

Ages of hopeless end? This would be worse. 

War, therefore, open or concealed, alike 

My voice dissuades ; for what can force or guile 

With Him, or who deceive His mind, whose eye 

Views all things at one view? He from Heaven's highth 190 j 

All these our motions vain sees and derides, | 

Not more almighty to resist our might 

Than wise to frustrate all our plots and wiles. 

Shall we, then, live thus vile — the race of Heaven 

Thus trampled, thus expelled, to suffer here 

Chains and these torments? Better these than worse, 

By my advice ; since fate inevitable 

Subdues us, and omnipotent decree. 

The Victor's will. To suffer, as to do. 

Our strength is equal ; nor the law unjust 200 

That so ordains. This w^as at first resolved, 

If we were wise, against so great a foe 

Contending, and so doubtful what might fall. 

I laugh when those who at the spear are bold 

And venturous, if that fail them, shrink, and fear 

What yet they know must follow — to endure 

Exile, or ignominy, or bonds, or pain, 

The sentence of their conqueror. This is now 

Our doom ; which if we can sustain and bear, 

Our Supreme Foe in time may much remit 210 



66 PARADISE LOST. [Book ii. 



His anger, and perhaps, thus far removed, 

Not mind us not offending, satisfied 

With what is punished ; whence these raging fires 

Will slacken, if his breath stir not their flames. 

Our purer essence then will overcome 

Their noxious vapour ; or, inured, not feel ; 

Or, changed at length, and to the place conformed 

In temper and in nature, will receive 

Familiar the fierce heat ; and, void of pain. 

This horror will grow mild, this darkness light ; 220 

Besides what hope the never-ending flight 

Of future days may bring, what chance, what change 

Worth waiting — since our present lot appears 

For happy though but ill, for ill not worst. 

If we procure not to ourselves more w'oe." 

Thus Belial, with words clothed in reason's garb, 
Counselled ignoble ease and peaceful sloth, 
Not peace ; and after him thus Mammon spake : — 

" Either to disenthrone the King of Heaven 
We war, if war be best, or to regain 230 

Our own right lost. Him to unthrone we then 
May hope, when everlasting Fate shall yield 
To fickle Chance, and Chaos judge the strife. 
The former, vain to hope, argues as vain 
The latter ; for what place can be for us 
Within Heaven's bound, unless Heaven's Lord Supreme 
We overpower? Suppose he should relent. 
And publish grace to all, on promise made 
Of new subjection ; with what eyes could we 

Stand in his presence humble, and receive 240 

Strict laws imposed, to celebrate his throne 
With warbled hymns, and to his Godhead sing 
Forced Halleluiahs, while he lordly sits 
Our envied sovran, and his altar breathes 
Ambrosial odours and ambrosial flowers, 
Our servile offerings? This must be our task 
In Heaven, this our delight. How wearisome 
Eternity so spent in worship paid 
To whom we hate! Let us not then pursue, 

By force impossible, by leave obtained 250 

Unacceptable, though in Heaven, our state 
Of splendid vassalage ; but rather seek 
Our ow^n good from oursel\^s, and from our own 
Live to ourselves, though in this vast recess, 
Free and to none accountable, preferring 
Hard liberty before the easy yoke 
Of servile pomp. Our greatness will appear 



Book ii.] PARADISE LOST. 67 

Then most conspicuous when great things of small, 

Useful of hurtful, prosperous of adverse, 

We can create, and in what place soe'er 260 

Thrive under evil, and work ease out of pain 

Through labour and endurance. This deep world 

Of darkness do we dread? How oft amidst 

Thick clouds and dark doth Heaven's all-iailing Sire 

Choose to reside, his glory unobscured, 

And with the majesty of darkness round 

Covers his throne, from whence deep thunders roar, 

Mustering their rage, and Heaven resembles Hell! 

As He our darkness, cannot we His light 

Imitate when we please? This desert soil 270 

Wants not her hidden lustre, gems and gold ; 

Nor want we skill or art from whence to raise 

^Jagnificence ; and what can Heaven show more ? 
f Our torments a^o may, in length of time, 

Become our elements, these piercing fires i 

As soft as noAV severe, our temper changed f 

Into their temper ; which must needs remove "^ 

The sensible of pain. All things invite 

To peaceful counsels, and the settled state 

Of order, how in safety best we may 280 

Compose our present evils, with regard 

Of what we are and where, dismissing quite 

All thoughts of war. Ye have what I advise." 
"~^ He scarce had finished, when such murmur filled 

The assembly as when hollow rocks retain 

The sound of blustering winds, which all night long 

Had roused the sea, now with hoarse cadence lull 

Seafaring men overwatched, whose bark by chance, 

Or pinnace, anchors in a craggy bay 

After the tempest. Such applause was heard 290 

As Mammon ended, and his sentence pleased, 

Advising peace : for such another field 

They dreaded worse than Hell ; so much the fear 

Of thunder and the sword of Michael 

Wrought still within them ; and no less desire 

To found this nether empire, which might rise, 

By policy and long process of time. 

In emulation opposite to Heaven. 

Which when Beelzebub perceived — than whom, 

Satan except, none higher sat — with grave 300 

Aspect he rose, and in his rising seemed 

A pillar of state. Deep on his front engraven 

Deliberation sat, and public care ; 

And princely counsel in his face yet shone, 



Majestic, though in ruin. Sage he stood, 

With Atlantean shoulders, fit to bear 

The weight of mightiest monarchies ; his look 

Drew audience and attention still as night 

Or summer's noontide air, while thus he spake : — 

"Thrones and Imperial Powers, Offspring of Heaven, 310 

Ethereal Virtues! or these titles now 
Must we renounce, and, changing style, be called 
Princes of Hell? for so the popular vote 
Inclines — here to continue, and build up here 
A growing empire; doubtless! while we dream. 
And know not that the King of Heaven hath doomed 
This place our dungeon — not our safe retreat 
Beyond his potent arm, to live exempt 
From Heaven's high jurisdiction, in new league 
Banded against his throne, but to remain 320 

In strictest bondage, though thus far removed, . 
Under the inevitable curb, reserved 
His captive multitude. For He, be sure. 
In highth or depth, still first and last will reign 
Sole king, and of his kingdom lose no part 
By our revolt, but over Hell extend 
His empire, and with iron sceptre rule 
Us here, as with his golden those in Heaven. 
What sit we then projecting peace and war? 

War hath determined us and foiled with loss 330 

Irreparable ; terms of peace yet none 
Vouchsafed or sought ; for what peace will be given 
To us enslaved, but custody severe, 
And stripes and arbitrary punishment 
Inflicted? and what peace can we return. 
But, to our power, hostility and hate, 
Untamed reluctance, and revenge, though slow, 
Yet ever plotting how the Conqueror least 
May reap his conquest, and may least rejoice 

In doing what we most in suffering feel? 340 

Nor will occasion want, nor shall we need 
With dangerous expedition to invade 
Heaven, whose high walls fear no assault or siege, 
Or ambush from the Deep. What if we find 
Some easier enterprise? There is a place 
(If ancient and prophetic fame in Heaven 
Err not) — another World, the happy seat 
Of some new race, called Man, about this time 
To be created like to us, though less 

In power and excellence, but favoured more 3 50 

Of Him who rules above ; so was His will 



Book ii.] PARADISE LOST. 69 

Pronounced among the gods, and by an oath 

That shook Heaven's whole circumference confirmed. 

Thither let us bend all our thoughts, to learn 

What creatures there inhabit, of what mould 

Or substance, how endued, and what their power 

And where their weakness : how attempted best, 

By force or subtlety. Though Heaven be shut. 

And Heaven's high Arbitrator sit secure 

In his own strength, this place may lie exposed, 360 

The utmost border of his kingdom, left 

To their defence who hold it : here, perhaps, 

Some advantageous act may be achieved 

By sudden onset — either with Hell-fire 

To waste his whole creation, or possess 

All as our own, and drive, as we are driven, 

The puny habitants ; or, if not drive. 

Seduce them to our party, that their God 

May prove their foe, and with repenting hand 

Abolish his own works. This would surpass 370 

Common revenge, and interrupt His joy 

In our confusion, and our joy upraise 

In His disturbance; when His darling sons. 

Hurled headlong to partake with us, shall curse 

Their frail original, and faded bliss — 

Faded so soon! Advise if this be worth 

Attempting, or to sit in darkness here 

Hatching vain empires." Thus Beelzebub 

Pleaded his devilish counsel — first devised 

By Satan, and in part proposed: for whence, 380 

But from the author of all ill, could spring 

So deep a malice, to confound the race 

Of mankind in one root, and Earth with Hell 

To mingle and involve, done all to spite 

The great Creator? But their spite still serves 

His glory to augment. The bold design 

Pleased highly those Infernal States, and joy 

Sparkled in all their eyes : with full assent 

They vote : whereat his speech he thus renews : — 

"Well have ye judged, well ended long debate, 390 

Synod of Gods, and, like to what ye are. 

Great things resolved, which from the lowest deep 

Will once more lift us up, in spite of fate. 

Nearer our ancient seat — perhaps in view 

Of those bright confines, whence, with neighbouring arms, 

And opportune excursion, we may chance 

Re-enter Heaven ; or else in some mild zone 

Dwell, not unvisited of Heaven's fair light, 



70 PARADISE LOST. [Book ii. 



Secure, and at the brightening orient beam 

Purge off this gloom : the soft dehcious air, 400 

To heal the scar of these corrosive fires, 

Shall breathe her balm. But, first, whom shall we send 

In search of this new World? whom shall we find 

Sufficient? who shall tempt with wandering feet 

The dark, unbottomed, infinite Abyss, 

And through the palpable obscure find out 

His uncouth way, or spread his aery flight, 

Upborne with indefatigable wings 

Over the vast Abrupt, ere he arrive 

The happy Isle? What strength, what art, can then 410 

Suffice, or what evasion bear him safe 

Through the strict senteries and stations thick 

Of Angels watching round? Here he had need 

All circumspection : and we now no less 

Choice in our suffrage ; for on whom we send 

The weight of all, and our last hope, relies." 

This said, he sat ; and expectation held 
His look suspense, awaiting who appeared 
To second, or oppose, or undertake 

The perilous attempt. But all sat mute, 420 

Pondering the danger with deep thoughts ; and each 
In other's countenance read his own dismay. 
Astonished. None among the choice and prime 
Of those Heaven-warring champions could be found 
So hardy as to proffer or accept, 
Alone, the dreadful voyage ; till, at last, 
Satan, whom now transcendent glory raised 
Above his fellows, with monarchal pride 
Conscious of highest worth, unmoved thus spake : — 

"O Progeny of Heaven! Empyreal Thrones! 430 

With reason hath deep silence and demur 
Seized us, though undismayed. Long is the way 
And hard, that out of Hell leads up to Light. 
Our prison strong, this huge convex of fire, 
Outrageous to devour, immures us round 
Ninefold ; and gates of burning adamant, 
Barred over us, prohibit all egress. 
These passed, if any pass, the void profound 
Of unessential Night receives him next. 

Wide-gaping, and with utter loss of being 440 

Threatens him, plunged in that abortive gulf. 
If thence he scape, into whatever world. 
Or unknown region, what remains him less 
Than unknown dangers, and as hard escape? 
But I should ill become this throne, O Peers, 



Book ii.] PARADISE LOST. 71 



And this imperial sovranty, adorned 

With splendour, armed with power, if aught proposed 

And judged of public moment in the shape 

Of difficulty or danger, could deter 

Me from attempting. Wherefore do I assume 450 

These royalties, and not refuse to reign. 

Refusing to accept as great a share 

Of hazard as of honour, due alike 

To him who reigns, and so much to him due 

Of hazard more as he above the rest 

High honoured sits? Go, therefore, mighty Powers, 

Terror of Heaven, though fallen ; intend at home, 

While here shall be our home, what best may ease 

The present misery, and render Hell 

More tolerable ; if there be cure or charm 460 

To respite, or deceive, or slack the pain 

Of this ill mansion : intermit no watch 

Against a wakeful foe, while I abroad 

Through all the coasts of dark destruction seek 

Deliverance for us all. This enterprise 

None shall partake with me."" Thus saying, rose 

The Monarch, and prevented all reply ; 

Prudent lest, from his resolution raised, 

Others among the chief might offer now, 

Certain to be refused, what erst they feared, 470 

And, so refused, might in opinion stand 

His rivals, winning cheap the high repute 

Which he through hazard huge must earn. But they 

Dreaded not more the adventure than his voice 

Forbidding ; and at once with him they rose. 

Their rising all at once was as the sound 

Of thunder heard remote. Toward him they bend 

With awful reverence prone, and as a God 

Extol him equal to the Highest in Heaven. 

Nor failed they to express how much they praised 480 

That for the general safety he despised 

His own : for neither do the Spirits damned 

Lose all their virtue ; lest bad men should boast 

Their specious deeds on earth, which glory excites, 

Or close ambition varnished o'er with zeal. 

Thus they their doubtful consultations dark 
Ended, rejoicing in their matchless Chief: 
As, when from mountain-tops the dusky clouds 
Ascending, w^hile the North-wind sleeps, overspread 
Heaven\s cheerful face, the louring element 490 

Scowls o'er the darkened landskip snow or shower, 
If chance the radiant sun, with farewell sweet, 



72 PARADISE LOST. [Book ii. 

Extend his evening beam, the fields revive, 

The birds their notes renew, and bleating herds 

Attest their joy, that hill and valley rings. 

O shame to men! Devil with devil damned 

Firm concord holds ; men only disagree 

Of creatures rational, though under hope 

Of heavenly grace, and, God proclaiming peace, 

Yet live in hatred, enmity, and strife 500 

Among themselves, and levy cruel wars 

Wasting the earth, each other to destroy : 

As if (which might induce us to accord) 

Man had not hellish foes enow besides. 

That day and night for his destruction wait! 

The Stygian council thus dissolved ; and forth 
In order came the grand Infernal Peers : 
Midst came their mighty Paramount, and seemed 
Alone the antagonist of Heaven, nor less 

Than Hell's dread Emperor, with pomp supreme, 510 

And god-like imitated state : him round 
A globe of fiery Seraphim enclosed 
With bright emblazonry, and horrent arms. 
Then of their session ended they bid cry 
With trumpet's regal sound the great result : 
Toward the four winds four speedy Cherubim 
Put to their mouths the sounding alchymy. 
By harald's voice explained ; the hollow Abyss 
Heard far and wide, and all the host of Hell 

With deafening shout returned them loud acclaim. 520 

Thence more at ease their minds, and somewhat raised 
By false presumptuous hope, the ranged Powers 
Disband ; and, wandering, each his several way 
Pursues, as inclination or sad choice 
Leads him perplexed, where he may likeliest find 
Truce to his restless thoughts, and entertain 
The irksome hours, till his great Chief return. 
Part on the plain, or in the air sublime. 
Upon the wing or in swift race contend, 

As at the Olympian games or Pythian fields ; 530 

Part curb their fiery steeds, or shun the goal 
With rapid wheels, or fronted brigads form : 
As when, to warn proud cities, war appears 
Waged in the troubled sky, and armies rush 
To battle in the clouds ; before each van 
Prick forth the aery knights, and couch their spears. 
Till thickest legions close ; with feats of arms 
From either end of heaven the welkin burns. 
Others, with vast Typhcean rage, more fell, 



Book ii.] PARADISE LOST. y^ 



Rend up both rocks and hills, and ride the air 540 

In whirlwind ; Hell scarce holds the wild uproar : — 

As when Alcides, from CEchalia crowned 

With conquest, felt the envenomed robe, and tore 

Through pain up by the roots Thessalian pines, 

And Lichas from the top of QEta threw 

Into the Euboic sea. Others, more mild, 

Retreated in a silent valley, sing 

With notes angelical to many a harp 

Their own heroic deeds, and hapless fall 

By doom of battle, and complain that Fate 550 

Free Virtue should enthrall to Force or Chance. 

Their song was partial ; but the harmony 

(What could it less when Spirits immortal sing?) 

Suspended Hell, and took with ravishment 

The thronging audience. In discourse more sweet 

(For Eloquence the Soul, Song charms the Sense) 

Others apart sat on a hill retired, 

In thoughts more elevate, and reasoned high 

Of Providence, Foreknowledge, Will, and Fate — 

Fixed fate, free will, foreknowledge absolute — 560 

And found no end, in wandering mazes lost. 

Of good and evil much they argued then, 

Of happiness and final misery, 

Passion and apathy, and glory and shame : 

Vain wisdom all, and false philosophy! — 

Yet, with a pleasing sorcery, could charm 

Pain for a while or anguish, and excite 

Fallacious hope, or arm the obdured breast 

With stubborn patience as with triple steel. 

Another part, in squadrons and gross bands, 570 

On bold adventure to discover wide 

That dismal world, if any clime perhaps 

Might yield them easier habitation, bend 

Four ways their flying march, along the banks 

Of four infernal rivers, that disgorge 

Into the burning lake their baleful streams — 

Abhorred Styx, the flood of deadly hate; 

Sad Acheron of sorrow, black and deep ; 

Cocytus, named of lamentation loud 

Heard on the rueful stream ; fierce Phlegeton, 580 

Whose waves of torrent fire inflame with rage. 

Far off from these, a slow and silent stream, 

Lethe, the river of oblivion, rolls 

Her watery labyrinth, whereof who drinks 

Forthwith his former state and being forgets — 

Forgets both joy and grief, pleasure and pain. 



74 PARADISE LOST. [Book ii. 



Beyond this flood a frozen continent 

Lies dark and wild, beat with perpetual storms 

Of whirlwind and dire hail, which on firm land 

Thaws not, but gathers heap, and ruin seems 590 

Of ancient pile ; all else deep snow and ice, 

A gulf profound as that Serbonian bog 

Betwixt Damiata and Mount Casius old, 

Where armies whole have sunk : the parching air 

Burns frore, and cold performs the eifect of fire. 

Thither, by harpy-footed Furies haled. 

At certain revolutions all the damned 

Are brought ; and feel by turns the bitter change 

Of fierce extremes, extremes by change more fierce, 

From beds of raging fire to starve in ice 600 

Their soft ethereal warmth, and there to pine 

Immovable, infixed, and frozen round 

Periods of time, — thence hurried back to fire. 

They ferry over this Lethean sound 

Both to and fro, their sorrow to augment. 

And wish and struggle, as they pass, to reach 

The tempting stream, with one small drop to lose 

In sweet forgetfulness all pain and woe. 

All in one moment, and so near the brink ; 

But Fate withstands, and, to oppose the attempt, 610 

Medusa with Gorgonian terror guards 

The ford, and of itself the water flies 

All taste of living wight, as once it fled 

The lip of Tantalus. Thus roving on 

In confused march forlorn, the adventurous bands. 

With shuddering horror pale, and eyes aghast. 

Viewed first their lamentable lot, and found 

No rest. Through many a dark and dreary vale 

They passed, and many a region dolorous. 

O'er many a frozen, many a fiery Alp, 620 

Rocks, caves, lakes, fens, bogs, dens, and shades of death — 

A universe of death, which God by curse 

Created evil, for evil only good ; 

Where all life dies, death lives, and Nature breeds, 

Perverse, all monstrous, all prodigious things. 

Abominable, inutterable, and worse 

Than fables yet have feigned or fear conceived, 

Gorgons, and Hydras, and Chimasras dire. 

Meanwhile the Adversary of God and Man, 
Satan, with thoughts inflamed of highest design, 630 

Puts on swift wings, and toward the gates of Hell 
Explores his solitary flight : sometimes 
He scours the right hand coast, sometimes the left; 



Book II.] PARADISE LOST. 75 

Now shaves with level wing the deep, then soars 
Up to the fiery concave towering high. 
As when far off" at sea a fleet descried 
Hangs in the clouds, by equinoctial winds 
Close sailing from Bengala, or the isles 
Of Ternate and Tidore, whence merchants bring 
Their spicy dmgs ; they on the trading flood, 640 

Through the wide Ethiopian to the Cape, 
Ply stemming nightly toward the pole : so seemed 
Far off" the flying Fiend. At last appear 
Hell-bounds, high reaching to the horrid roof, 
And thrice threefold the gates ; three folds were brass, 
Three iron, three of adamantine rock. 
Impenetrable, impaled with circling fire. 
Yet unconsumed. Before the gates there sat 
On either side a formidable Shape. 

The one seemed woman to the waist, and fair, 650 

But ended foul in many a scaly fold. 
Voluminous and vast — a serpent armed 
With mortal sting. About her middle round 
A cry of Hell-hounds never-ceasing barked 
With wide Cerberean mouths full loud, and rung 
A hideous peal ; yet, when they list, would creep, 
If aught disturbed their noise, into her womb. 
And kennel there ; yet there still barked and howled 
Within unseen. Far less abhorred than these 
Vexed Scylla, bathing in the sea that parts 660 

Calabria from the hoarse Trinacrian shore ; 
Nor uglier follow the night-hag, when, called 
In secret, riding through the air she comes, 
Lured with the smell of infant blood, to dance 
With Lapland witches, while the labouring moon 
Eclipses at their charms. The other Shape — 
If shape it might be called that shape had none 
Distinguishable in member, joint, or limb ; 
Or substance might be called that shadow seemed. 
For each seemed either — black it stood as Night, 670 

Fierce as ten Furies, terrible as Hell, 
And shook a dreadful dart : what seemed his head 
The likeness of a kingly crown had on. 
Satan was now at hand, and from his seat 
The monster moving onward came as fast 
With horrid strides ; Hell trembled as he strode. 
The undaunted Fiend what this might be admired — 
Admired, not feared (God and his Son except. 
Created thing naught valued he nor shunned). 
And with disdainful look thus first began : — 680 

"Whence and what art thou, execrable Shape, 



76 PARADISE LOST. [Book ii. 

That dar'st, though grim and terrible, advance 
Thy miscreated front athwart my way 
To yonder gates? Through them I mean to pass, 
That be assured, without leave asked of thee. 
Retire ; or taste thy folly, and learn by proof. 
Hell-born, not to contend with Spirits of Heaven." 

To whom the Goblin, full of wrath, replied: — 
"Art thou that Traitor-Angel, art thou he. 

Who first broke peace in Heaven and faith, till then 690 

Unbroken, and in proud rebellious arms 
Drew after him the third part of Heaven's sons, 
Conjured against the Highest — for which both thou 
And they, outcast from God, are here condemned 
To waste eternal days in woe and pain? 
And reckon'st thou thyself with Spirits of Heaven, 
Hell-doomed, and breath'st defiance here and scorn, 
Where I reign king, and, to enrage thee more, 
Thy king and lord? Back to thy punishment, 
False fugitive ; and to thy speed add wings, 700 

Lest with a whip of scorpions I pursue 
Thy lingering, or with one stroke of this dart 
Strange horror seize thee, and pangs unfelt before.'" 

So spake the grisly Terror, and in shape. 
So speaking and so threatening, grew tenfold 
More dreadful and deform. On the other side, 
Incensed with indignation, Satan stood 
Unterrified, and like a comet burned, 
That fires the length of Ophiuchus huge 

In the arctic sky, and from his horrid hair 710 

Shakes pestilence and war. Each at the head 
Levelled his deadly aim ; their fatal hands 
No second stroke intend ; and such a frown 
Each cast at the other as when two black clouds, 
With heaven's artillery fraught, come rattling on 
Over the Caspian, — then stand front to front 
Hovering a space, till winds the signal blow 
To join their dark encounter in mid-air. 
So frowned the mighty combatants that Hell 

Grew darker at their frown ; so matched they stood ; 720 

For never but once more was either like 
To meet so great a foe. And now great deeds 
Had been achieved, whereof all Hell had rung, 
Had not the snaky Sorceress, that sat 
Fast by Hell-gate and kept the fatal key. 
Risen, and with hideous outcry rushed between. 

" O father, what intends thy hand," she cried, 
"Against thy only son? What fury, O son, 
Possesses thee to bend that mortal dart 



Book ii.] PARADISE LOST. jj 

Against thy father's head? And know'st for whom? 730 

For Him who sits above, and laughs the while 

At thee, ordained his drudge to execute 

Whatever his wrath, which He calls justice, bids — 

His wrath, which one day will destroy ye both ! " 

She spake, and at her words the hellish Pest 
Forbore : then these to her Satan returned : — 

" So strange thy outcry, and thy words so strange 
Thou interposest, that my sudden hand. 
Prevented, spares to tell thee yet by deeds 

What it intends, till first I know of thee 740 

What thing thou art, thus double-formed, and why, 
In this infernal vale first met, thou calPst 
Me father, and that phantasm calPst my son. 
I know thee not, nor ever saw till now 
Sight more detestable than him and thee." 

To whom thus the Portress of Hell-gate replied: — 
"Hast thou forgot me, then; and do I seem 
Now in thine eyes so foul? — once deemed so fair 
In Heaven, when at the assembly, and in sight 
Of all the Seraphim with thee combined 750 

In bold conspiracy against Heaven's King, 
All on a sudden miserable pain 
Surprised thee, dim thine eyes, and dizzy swum 
In darkness, while thy head flames thick and fast 
Threw forth, till on the left side opening wide, 
Likest to thee in shape and countenance bright, 
Then shining heavenly fair, a goddess armed. 
Out of thy head I sprung. Amazement seized 
All the host of Heaven ; back they recoiled afraid 
At first, and called me Sin, and for a sign 760 

Portentous held me ; but, familiar grown, 
I pleased, and with attractive graces w^on 
The most averse — thee chiefly, who, full oft 
Thyself in me thy perfect image viewing, 
Becam'st enaj)io**red ; and such joy thou took'st 
With meTn secret that my womb conceived 
A growing burden. Meanwhile war arose. 
And fields were fought in Heaven : wherein remained 
(For what could else?) to our Almighty Foe 

Clear victory ; to our part loss and rout 770 

Through all the Empyrean. Down they fell, 
Driven headlong from the pitch of Heaven, down 
Into this Deep ; and in the general fall 
I also : at which time this powerful key 
Into my hands was given, with charge to keep 
These gates for ever shut, which none can pass 
Without my opening. Pensive here I sat 



78 PARADISE LOST. [Book ii. 

Alone ; but long I sat not, till my womb, 

Pregnant by thee, and now excessive grown. 

Prodigious motion felt and rueful throes. 780 

At last this odious offspring whom thou seest, 

Thine own begotten, breaking violent way, 

Tore through my entrails, that, with fear and pain 

Distorted, all my nether shape thus grew 

Transformed : but he my inbred enemy 

Forth issued, brandishing his fatal dart. 

Made to destroy. I fled, and cried out Death I 

Hell trembled at the hideous name, and sighed 

From all her caves, and back resounded Death! 

I fled ; but he pursued (though more, it seems, 790 

Inflamed with lust than rage), and, swifter far. 

Me overtook, his mother, all dismayed. 

And, in embraces forcible and foul 

Engendering with me, of that rape begot 

These yelling monsters, that with ceaseless cry 

Surround me, as thou saw'st — hourly conceived 

And hourly born, with sorrow infinite 

To me : for, when they list, into the womb 

That bred them they return, and howl, and gnaw 

My bowels, their repast ; then, bursting forth 800 

Afresh, with conscious terrors vex me round, 

That rest or intermission none I find. 

Before mine eyes in opposition sits 

Grim Death, my son and foe, who sets them on. 

And me, his parent, would full soon devour 

For want of other prey, but that he knows 

His end with mine involved, and knows that I 

Should prove a bitter morsel, and his bane. 

Whenever that shall be : so Fate pronounced. 

But thou, O father, I forewarn thee, shun 810 

His deadly arrow ; neither vainly hope 

To be invulnerable in those bright arms. 

Though tempered heavenly ; for that mortal dint. 

Save He who reigns above, none can resist." 

She finished ; and the subtle Fiend his lore 
Soon learned, now milder, and thus answered smooth : - 

"Dear daughter — since thou claim'st me for thy sire. 
And my fair son here show'st me, the dear pledge 
Of dalliance had with thee in Heaven, and joys 
Then sweet, now sad to mention, through dire change 820 

Befallen us unforeseen, unthought-of — know, 
I come no enemy, but to set free 
From out this dark and dismal house of pain 
Both him and thee, and all the Heavenly host 
Of Spirits that, in our just pretences armed, 



Book ii.] PARADISE LOST. 79 

Fell with us from on high. From them I go 

This uncouth errand sole, and one for all 

Myself expose, with lonely steps to tread 

The unfounded Deep, and through the void immense 

To search, with wandering quest, a place foretold 830 

Should be — and, by concurring signs, ere now 

Created vast and round — a place of bliss 

In the purlieus of Heaven; and therein placed 

A race of upstart creatures, to supply 

Perhaps our vacant room, though more removed, 

Lest Heaven, surcharged with potent multitude. 

Might hap to move new broils. Be this, or aught 

Than this more secret, now designed, I haste 

To know ; and, this once known, shall soon return, 

And bring ye to the place where thou and Death 840 

Shall dwell at ease, and up and down unseen 

Wing silently the buxom air, embalmed 

With odours. There ye shall be fed and filled 

Immeasurably ; all things shall be your prey.''' 

He ceased ; for both seemed highly pleased, and Death 
Grinned horrible a ghastly smile, to hear 
His famine should be filled, and blessed his maw 
Destined to that good hour. No less rejoiced 
His mother bad, and thus bespake her sire : — 

" The key of this infernal Pit, by due 850 

And by command of Heaven's all-powerful King, 
I keep, by Him forbidden to unlock 
These adamantine gates ; against all force 
Death ready stands to interpose his dart. 
Fearless to be overmatched by living might. 
But w^hat owe L to His commands above. 
Who hates me, and hath hither thrust me down 
Into this gloom of Tartarus profound, 
To sit in hateful office here confined, 

Inhabitant of Heaven and heavenly-born — 860 

Here in perpetual agony and pain. 
With terrors and with clamours compassed round 
Of mine own brood, that on my bowels feed? 
Thou art my father, thou my author, thou 
My being gav'st me ; whom should I obey 
But thee ? whom follow ? Thou wilt bring me soon 
To that new world of light and bliss, among 
The gods who live at ease, where I shall reign 
At thy right hand voluptuous, as beseems 
Thy daughter and thy darling, without end." 870 

Thus saying, from her side the fatal key, 
Sad instrument of all our woe, she took ; 
And, towards the gate rolling her bestial train, 



8o PARADISE LOST. [Book ii. 

Forthwith the huge portculHs high up-drew, 

Which, but herself, not all the Stygian Powers 

Could once have moved ; then in the key-hole turns 

The intricate wards, and every bolt and bar 

Of massy iron or solid rock with ease 

Unfastens. On a sudden open fly, 

With impetuous recoil and jarring sound, 880 

The infernal doors, and on their hinges grate 

Harsh thunder, that the lowest bottom shook 

Of Erebus. She opened; but to shut 

Excelled her power : the gates wide open stood, 

That with extended wings a bannered host. 

Under spread ensigns marching, might pass through 

With horse and chariots ranked in loose array ; 

So wide they stood, and like a furnace-mouth 

Cast forth redounding smoke and ruddy flame. 

Before their eyes in sudden view appear 890 

The secrets of the hoary Deep — a dark 

Illimitable ocean, without bound. 

Without dimension ; where length, breadth, and highth, 

And time, and place, are lost ; where eldest Night 

And Chaos, ancestors of Nature, hold 

Eternal anarchy, amidst the noise 

Of endless wars, and by confusion stand. 

For Hot, Cold, Moist, and Dry, four champions fierce, 

Strive here for mastery, and to battle bring 

Their embryon atoms : they around the flag 900 

Of each his faction, in their several clans. 

Light-armed or heavy, sharp, smooth, swift, or slow, 

Swarm populous, unnumbered as the sands 

Of Barca or Cyrene^s torrid soil. 

Levied to side with warring winds, and poise 

Their lighter wings. To whom these most adhere 

He rules a moment : Chaos umpire sits. 

And by decision more embroils the fray 

By which he reigns : next him, high arbiter. 

Chance governs all. Into this wild Abyss, 910 

The womb of Nature, and perhaps her grave, 

Of neither Sea, nor Shore, nor Air, nor Fire, 

But all these in their pregnant causes mixed 

Confusedly, and which thus must ever fight, 

Unless the Almighty Maker them ordain 

His dark materials to create more worlds — 

Into this wild Abyss the wary Fiend 

Stood on the brink of Hell and looked a while. 

Pondering his voyage ; for no narrow frith 

He had to cross. Nor was his ear less pealed 920 

With noises loud and ruinous (to compare 



Book ii.] PARADISE LOST. 



Great things with small) than when Bellona storms 

With all her battering engines, bent to rase 

Some capital city ; or less than if this frame 

Of heaven were falling, and these elements 

In mutiny had from her axle torn 

The steadfast Earth. At last his sail-broad vans 

He spreads for flight, and, in the surging smoke 

Uplifted, spurns the ground ; thence many a league, 

As in a cloudy chair, ascending rides ' 930 

Audacious ; but, that seat soon failing, meets 

A vast vacuity. All unawares, 

Fluttering his pennons vain, plumb-down he drops 

Ten thousand fathom deep, and to this hour 

Down had been falling, had not, by ill chance, 

The strong rebuff of some tumultuous cloud. 

Instinct with fire and nitre, hurried him 

As many miles aloft. That fury stayed — 

Quenched in a boggy Syrtis, neither sea, 

Nor good dry land — nigh foundered, on he fares, 940 

Treading the crude consistence, half on foot, 

Half flying ; behoves him now both oar and sail. 

As when a gryphon through the wilderness 

With winged course, o'er hill or moory dale, 

Pursues the Arimaspian, who by stealth 

Had from his wakeful custody purloined 

The guarded gold ; so eagerly the Fiend 

O'er bog or steep, through strait, rough, dense, or rare, 

With head, hands, wings, or feet, pursues his way, 

And swims, or sinks, or wades, or creeps, or flies. 950 

At length a universal hubbub v/ild 

Of stunning sounds, and voices all confused. 

Borne through the hollow dark, assaults his ear 

With loudest vehemence. Thither he plies 

Undaunted, to meet there whatever Power 

Or Spirit of the nethermost Abyss 

Might in that noise reside, of whom to ask 

Which way the nearest coast of darkness lies 

Bordering on light ; when straight behold the throne 

Of Chaos, and his dark pavilion spread 960 

Wide on the wasteful Deep! With him enthroned 

Sat sable-vested Night, eldest of things. 

The consort of his reign ; and by them stood 

Orcus and Ades, and the dreaded name 

Of Demogorgon ; Rumour next, and Chance, 

And Tumult, and Confusion, all embroiled. 

And Discord with a thousand various mouths. 

To whom Satan, turning boldly, thus: — "Ye Powers 
And Spirits of this nethermost Abyss, 



82 PARADISE LOST. [Book ii. 



Chaos and ancient Night, I come no spy 970 

With purpose to explore or to disturb 

The secrets of your reahii ; but, by constraint 

Wandering this darksome desert, as my way 

Lies through your spacious empire up to light, 

Alone and without guide, half lost, I seek, 

What readiest path leads where your gloomy bounds 

Confine with Heaven ; or, if some other place. 

From your dominion won, the Ethereal King 

Possesses lately, thither to arrive 

I travel this profound. Direct my course : 980 

Directed, no mean recompense it brings 

To your behoof, if I that region lost, 

All usurpation thence expelled, reduce 

To her original darkness and your sway 

(Which is my present journey), and once more 

Erect the standard there of ancient Night. 

Yours be the advantage all, mine the revenge!" 

Thus Satan ; and him thus the Anarch old. 
With faltering speech and visage incomposea. 

Answered: - "I know thee, stranger, who thou art — 990 

That mighty leading Angel, who of late 
Made head against Heaven's King, though overthrown. 
I saw and heard ; for such a numerous host 
Fled not in silence through the frighted Deep, 
With ruin upon ruin, rout on rout. 
Confusion worse confounded ; and Heaven-gates 
Poured out by millions her victorious bands, 
Pursuing. I upon my frontiers here 
Keep residence ; if all I can will serve 

That little which is left so to defend, 1000 

Encroached on still through our intestine broils 
Weakening the sceptre of old Night : first. Hell, 
Your dungeon, stretching far and wide beneath ; 
Now lately Heaven and Earth, another world 
Hung o'er my realm, linked in a golden chain 
To that side Heaven from whence your legions fell ! 
If that way be your walk, you have not far ; 
So much the nearer danger. Go, and speed ; 
Havoc, and spoil, and ruin, are my gain.'' 

He ceased; and Satan staid not to reply, icio 

But, glad that now his sea should find a shore, 
With fresh alacrity and force renewed 
Springs upward, like a pyramid of fire, 
Into the wild expanse, and through the shock 
Of fighting elements, on all sides round 
Environed, wins his way ; harder beset 
And more endangered than when Argo passed 



Book ii.] PARADISE LOST. 83 

Through Bosporus betwixt the justling rocks, 

Or when Ulysses on the larboard shunned 

Charybdis, and by the other Whirlpool steered. 1020 

So he with difficulty and labour hard 

Moved on. With difficulty and labour he ; 

But, he once passed, soon after, when Man fell, 

Strange alteration 1 Sin and Death amain, 

Following his track (such was the will of Heaven) 

Paved after him a broad and beaten way 

Over the dark Abyss, whose boihng gulf 

Tamely endured a bridge of wondrous length. 

From Hell continued, reaching the utmost Orb 

Of this frail World ; by which the Spirits perverse 1030 

With easy intercourse pass to and fro 

To tempt or punish mortals, except whom 

God and good Angels guard by special grace. 

But now at last the sacred influence 
Of light appears, and from the walls of Heaven 
Shoots far into the bosom of dim Night 
A glimmering dawn. Here Nature first begins 
Her farthest verge, and Chaos to retire, 
As from her outmost works, a broken foe, 

With tumult less and with less hostile din; 1040 

That Satan with less toil, and now with ease, 
Wafts on the calmer wave by dubious light. 
And, like a weather-beaten vessel, holds 
Gladly the port, though shrouds and tackle torn ; 
Or in the emptier waste, resembling air. 
Weighs his spread wings, at leisure to behold 
Far off the empyreal Heaven, extended wide 
In circuit, undetermined square or round. 
With opal towers and battlements adorned 

Of living sapphire, once his native seat, 1050 

And, fast by, hanging in a golden chain. 
This pendent World, in bigness as a star 
Of smallest magnitude close by the moon. 
Thither, full fraught with mischievous revenge, 
Accurst, and in a cursed hour, he hies. 



THE END OF THE SECOND BOOK. 



PARADISE LOST. 

BOOK HI. 



THE ARGUMENT. 

God, sitting on his throne, sees Satan tlying towards this World, then newly created; 
shows him to the Son, who sat at his right hand; foretells the success of Satan in perverting 
mankind; clears his own justice and wisdom from all imputation, having created Man free, 
and able enough to have withstood his Tempter: yet declares his purpose of grace towards 
him, in regard he fell not of his own malice, as did Satan, but by him seduced. The Son of 
God renders praises to his Father for the manifestation of his gracious purpose towards Man: 
but God again declares that grace cannot be extended towards Man without the satisfaction 
of Divine Justice; Man hath offended the majesty of God by aspiring to Godhead, and there- 
fore, with all his progeny, devoted to death, must die, unless some one can be found suffi- 
cient to answer for his offence, and undergo his punishment. The Son of God freely offers 
himself a ransom for Man: the Father accepts him, ordains his incarnation, pronounces 
his exaltation above all names in Heaven and Earth; commands all the Angels to adore 
him. They obey, and, hymning to their harps in full quire, celebrate the Father and the Son. 
Meanwhile Satan alights upon the bare convex of this World's outermost orb; where wander- 
ing he first finds a place since called the Limbo of Vanity; what persons and things fly up 
thither; thence comes to the gate of Heaven, described ascending by stairs, and the waters 
above the firmament that flow about it. His passage thence to the orb of the Sun: he finds 
there Uriel, the regent of that orb, but first changes himself into the shape of a meaner 
Angel, and, pretending a zealous desire to behold the new Creation, and Man whom God 
had placed here, inquires of him the place of his habitation, and is directed: Alights first on 
Mount Niphates. 

HAIL, holy Light, offspring of Heaven first-born! 
Or of the Eternal coeternal beam 
May I express thee unblamed? since God is light, 
And never but in unapproached light 
Dwelt from eternity — dwelt then in thee, 
Bright effluence of bright essence increate! 
Or hear'st thou rather pure Ethereal stream, 
Whose fountain who shall tell? Before the Sun, 
Before the Heavens, thou wert, and at the voice 
Of God, as with a mantle, didst invest lo 

The rising World of waters dark and deep, 
Won from the void and formless Infinite! 
Thee I revisit now with bolder wing, 
Escaped the Stygian Pool, though long detained 
In that obscure sojourn, while in my flight, 



84 



Book hi.] PARADISE LOST. 85 

Through utter and through middle Darkness borne, 

With other notes than to the Orphean lyre 

I sung of Chaos and eternal Night, 

Taught by the Heavenly Muse to venture down 

The dark descent, and up to re-ascend, 20 

Though hard and rare. Thee I revisit safe, 

And feel thy sovran vital lamp ; but thou 

Revisit'st not these eyes, that roll in vain 

To find thy piercing ray, and find no dawn ; 

So thick a drop serene hath quenched their orbs. 

Or dim suffiision veiled. Yet not the more 

Cease I to wander where the Muses haunt 

Clear spring, or shady grove, or sunny hill, 

Smit with the love of sacred song ; but chief 

Thee, Sion, and the flowery brooks beneath, 30 

That wash thy hallowed feet, and warbling flow. 

Nightly I visit : nor sometimes forget 

Those other two equalled with me in fate. 

So were I equalled with them in renown. 

Blind Thamyris and blind Maeonides, 

And Tiresias and Phineus, prophets old : 

Then feed on thoughts that voluntary move 

Harmonious numbers ; as the wakeful bird 

Sings darkling, and, in shadiest covert hid. 

Tunes her nocturnal note. Thus with the year 40 

Seasons return ; but not to me returns 

Day, or the sweet approach of even or morn 

Or sight of vernal bloom, or summer''s rose. 

Or flocks, or herds, or human face divine ; 

But cloud instead and ever-during dark 

Surrounds me, from the cheerful ways of men 

Cut off", and, for the book of knowledge fair, 

Presented with a universal blank 

Of Nature's works, to me expunged and rased^^^ 

And wisdom at one entrance quite shut out. 50 

So much the rather thou. Celestial Light, 

Shine inward, and the mind through all her powers 

Irradiate ; there plant eyes ; all mist from thence 

Purge and disperse, that I may see and tell 

Of things invisible to mortal sight. 

Now had the Almighty Father from above. 
From the pure Empyrean where H[e sits 
High throned above all highth, bent down his eye. 
His own works and their works at once to view : 
About him all the Sanctities of Heaven 60 

Stood thick as stars, and from his sight received 
Beatitude past utterance ; on his right 



86 PARADISE LOST. [Book hi. 

The radiant image of his glory sat, 

His only Son. On Earth he first beheld 

Our two first parents,, yet the only two 

Of mankind, in the Happy Garden placed, 

Reaping immortal fruits of joy and love, 

Uninterrupted joy, unrivalled love, 

In blissful solitude. He then surveyed 

Hell and the gulf between, and Satan there 70 

Coasting the wall of Heaven on this side Night, 

In the dun air sublime, and ready now 

To stoop, with wearied wings and willing feet, 

On the bare outside of this World, that seemed 

Firm land imbosomed without firmament. 

Uncertain which, in ocean or in air. 

Him God beholding from his prospect high, 

Wherein past, present, future, he beholds. 

Thus to His only Son foreseeing spake : — 

"Only-begotten Son, seest thou what rage 80 

Transports our Adversary? whom no bounds 
Prescribed, no bars of Hell, nor all the chains 
Heaped on him there, nor yet the main Abyss 
Wide interrupt, can hold ; so bent he seems 
On desperate revenge, that shall redound 
Upon his own rebellious head. And now. 
Through all restraint broke loose, he wings his way 
Not far oif Heaven, in the precincts of light. 
Directly towards the new-created World, 

And Man there placed, with purpose to assay 90 

If him by force he can destroy, or, worse. 
By some false guile pervert : And shall pervert ; 
For Man will hearken to his glozing lies. 
And easily transgress the sole command. 
Sole pledge of his obedience : so will fall 
He and his faithless progeny. Whose fault? 
Whose but his own? Ingrate, he had of me 
All he could have; I made him just and right. 
Sufficient to have stood, though free to fall. 

Such I created all the Ethereal Powers 100 

And Spirits, both them who stood and them who failed; 
Freely they stood who stood, and fell who fell. 
Not free, what proof could they have given sincere 
Of true allegiance, constant faith, or love. 
Where only what they needs must do appeared. 
Not what they would? What praise could they receive. 
What pleasure I, from such obedience paid, 
When Will and Reason (Reason also is Choice), 
Useless and vain, of freedom both despoiled, 



Book hi.] PARADISE LOST. 87 

Made passive both, had served Necessity, no 

Not Me? They, therefore, as to right belonged 

So were created, nor can justly accuse 

Their Maker, or their making, or their fate, 

As if Predestination overruled 

Their will, disposed by absolute decree 

Or high foreknowledge. They themselves decreed 

Their own revolt, not I. If I foreknew% 

Foreknowledge had no influence on their fault, 

Which had no less proved certain unforeknown. 

So without least impulse or shadow of fate, 120 

Or aught by me immutably foreseen. 

They trespass, authors to themselves in all. 

Both what they judge and what they choose \ for so 

I formed them free, and free they must remain 

Till they enthrall themselves: I else must change 

Their nature, and revoke the high decree 

Unchangeable, eternal, which ordained 

Their freedom ; they themselves ordained their fall. 

The first sort by their own suggestion fell, 

Self-tempted, self-depraved ; Man falls, deceived 130 

By the other first : Man, therefore, shall find grace ; 

The other, none. In mercy and justice both„ 

Through Heaven and Earth, so shall my glory excel; 

But mercy, first and last, shall brightest shine.'' 

Thus w'hile God spake ambrosial fragrance filled 
All Heaven, and in the blessed Spirits elect ^ 

Sense of new joy ineiTable diffused. 
Beyond compare the Son of God was seen 
Most glorious ; in him all his Father shone 

Substantially expressed ; and in his face 140 

Divine compassion visibly appeared, 
Love without end, and without measure grace; 
Which uttering, thus He to his Father spake: — 

"O Father, gracious was that word which closed 
Thy sovran sentence, that Man should find grace: 
For which both Heaven and Earth shall high extol 
Thy praises, with the innumerable sound 
Of hymns and sacred songs, wherewith thy throne 
Encompassed shall resound thee ever blest. 

For, should Man finally be lost— should Man, 150 

Thy creature late so loved, thy youngest son, 
Fall circumvented thus by fraud, though joined 

With his own folly ! That be from thee far, 

That far be from thee, Father, who art judge 
Of all things made, and judgest only right! 
Or shall the Adversary thus obtain 



88 PARADISE LOST. [Book hi. 



His end, and frustrate thine? shall he fulfil 
His malice, and thy goodness bring to naught 
Or proud return, though to his heavier doom 
Yet with revenge accomplished, and to Hell 
Draw after him the whole race of mankind, 
By him corrupted? Or wilt thou thyself 
Abolish thy creation, and unmake, 
For him, what for thy glory thou hast made? — 
So should thy goodness and thy greatness both 
Be questioned and blasphemed without defence.'" 

To whom the great Creator thus replied : — 
" O Son, in whom my soul hath chief delight, 
Son of my bosom. Son who art alone 
My word, my wisdom, and effectual might, 
All hast thou spoken as my thoughts are, all 
As my eternal purpose hath decreed. 
Man shall not quite be lost, but saved who will ; 
Yet not of will in him, but grace in me 
Freely vouchsafed. Once more I will renew 
His lapsed powers, though forfeit, and enthralled 
By sin to foul exorbitant desires : 
Upheld by me, yet once more he shall stand 
On even ground against his mortal foe — 
By me upheld, that he may know how frail 
His fallen condition is, and to me owe 
All his deliverance, and to none but me. 
Some I have chosen of peculiar grace. 
Elect above the rest ; so is my will : 
The rest shall hear me call, and oft be warned 
Their sinful state, and to appease betimes 
The incensed Deity, while offered grace 
Invites ; for I will clear their senses dark 
What may suffice, and soften stony hearts 
To pray, repent, and bring obedience due. 
To prayer, repentance, and obedience due, 
Though but endeavoured with sincere intent, 
Mine ear shall not be slow, mine eye not shut. 
And I will place within them as a guide 
My umpire Conscience ; whom if they will hear, 
I Light after light well used they shall attain, 

\ And to the end persisting safe arrive. 

I This my long sufifrance, and my day of grace, 

I They who neglect and scorn shall never taste ; 

I But hard be hardened, blind be blinded more, 

f That they may stumble on, and deeper fall ; 

And none but such from mercy I exclude. — — 
I, But yet all is not done. Man disobeying. 



Book hi.] 



PARADISE LOST. 89 



Disloyal, breaks his fealty, and sins 

Against the high supremacy of Heaven, 

Affecting Godhead, and, so losing all, 

To expiate his treason hath naught left, 

But, to destruction sacred and devote, 

He with his whole posterity must die; — 

Die he or Justice must; unless for him 210 

Some other, able, and as willing, pay 

The rigid satisfaction, death for death. 

Say, Heavenly Powers, where shall we find such love.'' 

Which of ye will be mortal, to redeem 

Man's mortal crime, and just, the unjust to save? 

Dwells in all Heaven charity so dear?" 

He asked, but all the Heavenly Qun-e stood mute. 
And silence was in Heaven: on Man's behalf 
Patron or intercessor none appeared — 

Much less that durst upon his own head draw 220 

The deadly forfeiture, and ransom set. 
And now without redemption all mankind 
Must have been lost, adjudged to Death and Hell 
By doom severe, had not the Son of God, 
In whom the fulness dwells of love divine, 

His dearest mediation thus renewed:-- 

"Father, thy word is passed, Man shall find grace; 

And shall Grace not find means, that finds her way, 

The speediest of thy winged messengers. 

To visit all thy creatures, and to all 230 

Comes unprevented, unimplored, unsought? 

Happy for Man, so coming! He her aid 

Can never seek, once dead in sins and lost — 

Atonement for himself, or off"ering meet, 

Indebted and undone, hath none to bring. 

Behold me, then : me for him, life for life, 

I offer ; on me let thine anger fall ; 

Account me Man: I for his sake will leave 

Thy bosom, and this glory next to thee 

Freely put off, and for him lastly die 240 

Well pleased; on me let Death wreak all his rage. 

Under his gloomy power I shall not long 

Lie vanquished. Thou hast given me to possess 

Life in myself for ever ; by thee I live ; _ 

Though now to Death I yield, and am his due, 

All that of me can die, yet, that debt paid, 

Thou wilt not leave me in the loathsome grave 

His prey, nor suffer my unspotted soul 

Forever with corruption there to dwell; _ 

But I shall rise victorious, and subdue 250 



90 PARADISE LOST. [Book hi. 

My vanquisher, spoiled of his vaunted spoil. 

Death his death's wound shall then receive, and stoop 

Inglorious, of his mortal sting disarmed; 

I through the ample air in triumph high 

Shall lead Hell captive maugre Hell, and show 

The powers of Darkness bound. Thou, at the sight 

Pleased, out of Heaven shalt look down and smile, 

While, by thee raised, I ruin all my foes — 

Death last, and with his carcase glut the grave; 

Then, with the multitude of my redeemed, 260 

Shall enter Heaven, long absent, and return, 

Father, to see thy face, wherein no cloud 

Of anger shall remain, but peace assured 

And reconcilement : wrath shall be no more 

Thenceforth, but in thy presence joy entire." 

His words here ended ; but his meek aspect 
Silent yet spake, and breathed immortal love 
To mortal men, above which only shone 
Filial obedience : as a sacrifice 

Glad to be offered, he attends the will 270 

Of his great Father. Admiration seized 
All Heaven, what this might mean, and whither tend, 
Wondering ; but soon the Almighty thus replied : — 

"O thou in Fleaven and Earth the only peace 
Found out for mankind under wrath, O thou 
My sole complacence! well thou know\st how dear 
To me are all my works ; nor Man the least, 
Though last created, that for him I spare 
Thee from my bosom and right hand, to save, 
By losing thee a while, the whole race lost! 280 

Thou, therefore, whom thou only canst redeem, 
Their nature also to thy nature join ; 
And be thyself Man among men on Earth, 
Made flesh, when time shall be, of virgin seed, 
By wondrous birth ; be thou in Adam's room 
The head of all mankind, though Adam's son. 
As in him perish all men, so in thee. 
As from a second root, shall be restored 
As many as are restored; without thee, none. 
His crime makes guilty all his sons ; thy merit, 290 

Imputed, shall absolve them who renounce 
Their own both righteous and unrighteous deeds, 
And live in thee transplanted, and from thee 
Receive new life. So Man, as is most just. 
Shall satisfy for Man, be judged and die, 
. And dying rise, and, rising, with him raise 
His brethren, ransomed with his own dear life. 



Book hi.] PARADISE LOST. 91 

So Heavenly love shall outdo Hellish hate, 

Giving to death, and dying to redeem, 

So dearly to redeem what Hellish hate 300 

So easily destroyed, and still destroys 

In those who, when they may, accept not grace. 

Nor shalt thou, by descending to assume 

Man's nature, lessen or degrade thine own. 

Because thou hast, though throned in highest bliss 

Equal to God, and equally enjoying 

God-like fmition, quitted all to save 

A world from utter loss, and hast been found 

By merit more than birthright Son of God, — 

Found worthiest to be so by being good, 310 

Far more than great or high ; because in thee 

Love hath abounded more than glory abounds ; 

Therefore thy humiliation shall exalt 

With thee thy manhood also to this throne : 

Here shalt thou sit incarnate, here shalt reign 

Both God and Man, Son both of God and Man, 

Anointed universal King. All power 

I give thee ; reign for ever, and assume 

Thy merits ; under thee, as Head Supreme, 

Thrones, Princedoms, Powers, Dominions, I reduce : 320 

All knees to thee shall bow of them that bide 

In Heaven, or Earth, or, under Earth, in Hell. 

When thou, attended gloriously from Heaven, 

Shalt in the sky appear, and from thee send 

The summoning Archangels to proclaim 

Thy dread tribunal, forthwith from all winds 

The living, and forthwith the cited dead 

Of all past ages, to the general doom 

Shall hasten ; such a peal shall rouse their sleep. 

Then, all thy Saints assembled, thou shalt judge 330 

Bad men and Angels ; they arraigned shall sink 

Beneath thy sentence ; Hell, her numbers full. 

Thenceforth shall be for ever shut. Meanwhile 

The World shall burn, and from her ashes spring 

New Heaven and Earth, wherein the just shall dwell, 

And, after all their tribulations long. 

See golden days, fruitful of golden deeds. 

With Joy and Love triumphing, and fair Truth. 

Then thou thy regal sceptre shalt lay by ; 

For regal sceptre then no more shall need ; 340 

God shall be all in all. But all ye Gods, 

Adore him who, to compass all this, dies ; 

Adore the Son, and honour him as me." 

No sooner had the Almighty ceased but — all 



92 PARADISE LOST. [Book hi. 

The multitude of Angels, with a shout 
Loud as from numbers without number, sweet 
As from blest voices, uttering joy — Heaven nmg 
With jubilee, and loud hosannas filled 
The eternal regions. Lowly reverent 

Towards either throne they bow, and to the ground 350 

With solemn adoration down they cast 
Their crowns, inwove with amarant and gold, — 
Immortal amarant, a flower which once 
In Paradise, fast by the Tree of Life, 
Began to bloom, but, soon for Man's offence 
To Heaven removed where first it grew, there grows 
And flowers aloft, shading the Fount of Life, 
And where the River of Bliss through midst of Heaven 
Rolls o'er Elysian flowers her amber stream! 

With these, that never fade, the Spirits elect 360 

Bind their resplendent locks, in wreathed with beams. 
Now in loose garlands thick thrown off", the bright 
Pavement, that like a sea of jasper shone, 
Impurpled with celestial roses smiled. 
Then, crowned again, their golden harps they took — 
Harps ever tuned, that glittering by their side 
Like quivers hung ; and with preamble sweet 
Of charming symphony they introduce 
Their sacred song, and waken raptures high : 

No voice exempt, no voice but well could join 370 

Melodious part ; such concord is in Heaven. 
Thee, Father, first they sung. Omnipotent, 
Immutable, Immortal, Infinite, 
Eternal King ; thee. Author of all being. 
Fountain of light, thyself invisible 
Amidst the glorious brightness where thou sitt'st 
Throned inaccessible, but when thou shad'st 
The full blaze of thy beams, and through a cloud 
Drawn round about thee like a radiant shrine 

Dark with excessive bright thy skirts appear, 380 

Yet dazzle Heaven, that brightest Seraphim 
Approach not, but with both wings veil their eyes. 
Thee next they sang, of all creation first, 
Begotten Son, Divine Similitude, 
In whose conspicuous countenance, without cloud 
Made visible, the Almighty Father shines. 
Whom else no creature can behold : on thee 
Impressed the effiilgence of his glory abides ; 
Transfused on thee his ample Spirit rests. 

He Heaven of Heavens, and all the Powers therein, 390 

By thee created ; and by thee threw down 



Book hi.] PARADISE LOST. 93 

The aspiring Dominations. Thou that day 

Thy Father's dreadful thunder didst not spare, 

Nor stop thy flaming chariot-wheels, that shook 

Heaven's everlasting frame, while o'er the necks 

Thou drov'st of warring Angels disarrayed. 

Back from pursuit, thy Powers with loud acclaim 

Thee only extolled. Son of thy Father's might, 

To execute fierce vengeance on his foes. 

Not so on Man : him, through their malice fallen, 400 

Father of mercy and grace, thou didst not doom 

So strictly, but much more to pity incline. 

No sooner did thy dear and only Son 

Perceive thee purposed not to doom frail Man 

So strictly, but much more to pity inclined, 

He, to appease thy wrath, and end the strife 

Of mercy and justice in thy face discerned. 

Regardless of the bliss wherein he sat 

Second to thee, offered himself to die 

For Man's offence. O unexampled love! 410 i 

Love nowhere to be found less than Divine! * 

Hail, Son of God, Saviour of men! Thy name 

Shall be the copious matter of my song 

Henceforth, and never shall my harp thy praise 

Forget, nor from thy Father's praise disjoin! 

Thus they in Heaven, above the Starry Sphere, 
Their happy hours in joy and hymning spent. 
Meanwhile, upon the firm opacous globe 
Of this round World, whose first convex divides 
The luminous inferior Orbs, enclosed 420 

From Chaos and the inroad of Darkness old, 
Satan alighted walks. A globe far off 
It seemed; now seems a boundless continent, 
Dark, waste, and wdld, under the frown of Night 
Starless exposed, and ever-threatening storms 
Of Chaos blustering round, inclement sky, 
Save on that side which from the wall of Heaven, 
Though distant far, some small reflection gains 
Of glimmering air less vexed with tempest loud. 
Here walked the Fiend at large in spacious field. 430 

As when a vulture, on Imaus bred. 
Whose snowy ridge the roving Tartar bounds. 
Dislodging from a region scarce of prey, 
To gorge the flesh of lambs or yeanling kids 
On hills where flocks are fed, flies toward the springs 
Of Ganges or Hydaspes, Indian streams. 
But in his way lights on the barren plains 
Of Sericana, where Chineses drive 



94 PARADISE LOST. [Book hi. 

With sails and wind their cany waggons hght ; 

So, on this windy sea of land, the Fiend 440 

Walked up and down alone, bent on his prey : 

Alone, for other creature in this place, 

Living or hfeless, to be found was none ; — 

None yet ; but store hereafter from the Earth 

Up hither like aerial vapours flew 

Of all things transitory and vain, when sin 

With vanity had filled the works of men — 

Both all things vain, and all who in vain things 

Built their fond hopes of glory or lasting fame, 

Or happiness in this or the other life. 450 

All who have their reward on earth, the fruits 

Of painful superstition and blind zeal. 

Naught seeking but the praise of men, here find 

Fit retribution, empty as their deeds ; 

All the unaccomplished works of Nature's hand, 

Abortive, monstrous, or unkindly mixed. 

Dissolved on Earth, fleet hither, and in vain. 

Till final dissolution, wander here — 

Not in the neighbouring Moon, as some have dreamed : 

Those argent fields more likely habitants, 460 

Translated Saints, or middle Spirits hold, 

Betwixt the angelical and human kind. 

Hither, of ill-joined sons and daughters born, 

First from the ancient world those Giants came. 

With many a vain exploit, though then renowned : 

The builders next of Babel on the plain 

Of Sennaar, and still with vain design 

New Babels, had they wherewithal, would build: 

Others came single ; he who, to be deemed 

A god, leaped fondly into ^tna flames, 470 

Empedocles ; and he who, to enjoy 

Plato's Elysium, leaped into the sea, 

Cleombrotus ; and many more, too long. 

Embryos and idiots, eremites and friars, 

White, black, and grey, with all their trumpery. 

Here pilgrims roam, that strayed so far to seek 

In Golgotha him dead who lives in Heaven ; 

And they who, to be sure of Paradise, 

Dying put on the weeds of Dominic, 

Or in Franciscan think to pass disguised. 480 

They pass the planets seven, and pass the fixed, 

And that crystalline sphere whose balance weighs 

The trepidation talked, and that first moved; 

And now Saint Peter at Heaven's wicket seems 

To wait them with his keys, and now at foot 



Book III.] PARADISE LOST. 95 

Of Heaven's ascent they lift their feet, when, lo ! 

A violent cross wind from either coast 

Blows them transverse, ten thousand leagues awry, 

Into the devious air. Then might ye see 

Cowls, hoods, and habits, with their wearers, tost 490 

And fluttered into rags ; then reliques, beads, 

Indulgences, dispenses, pardons, bulls. 

The sport of winds : all these, upwhirled aloft, 

Fly o'er the backside of the World far off 

Into a Limbo large and broad, since called 

The Paradise of Fools ; to few unknown 

Long after, now unpeopled and untrod. 

All this dark globe the Fiend found as he passed; 
And long he wandered, till at last a gleam 

Of dawning light turned thitherward in haste 500 

His travelled steps. Far distant he descries, 
Ascending by degrees magnificent 
Up to the wall of Heaven, a structure high ; 
At top whereof, but far more rich, appeared 
The work as of a kingly palace-gate. 
With frontispiece of diamond and gold 
Embellished ; thick with sparkling orient gems 
The portal shone, inimitable on Earth 
By model, or by shading pencil drawn. 

The stairs were such as whereon Jacob saw 510 

Angels ascending and descending, bands 
Of guardians bright, when he from Esau fled 
To Padan-Aram, in the field of Luz 
Dreaming by night under the open sky. 
And waking cried. This is the gate of Heaven. 
Each stair mysteriously was meant, nor stood 
There always, but drawn up to Heaven sometimes 
Viewless ; and underneath a bright sea flowed 
Of jasper, or of liquid pearl, whereon 

Who after came from Earth sailing arrived 520 

Wafted by Angels, or flew o'er the lake 
Rapt in a chariot drawn by fiery steeds. 
The stairs were then let down, whether to dare 
The Fiend by easy ascent, or aggravate 
His sad exclusion from the doors of bliss : 
Direct against which opened from beneath. 
Just o'er the blissful seat of Paradise, 
A passage down to the Earth — a passage wide ; 
Wider by far than that of after-times 

Over Mount Sion, and, though that were large, 530 

Over the Promised Land to God so dear. 
By which, to visit oft those happy tribes, 



96 PARADISE LOST. [Book hi. 

On high behests his Angels to and fro 

Passed frequent, and his eye with choice regard 

From Paneas, the fount of Jordan's flood, 

To Beersaba, where the Holy Land 

Borders on Egypt and the Arabian shore. 

So wide the opening seemed, where bounds were set 

To darkness, such as bound the ocean wave. 

Satan from hence, now on the lower stair, 540 

That scaled by steps of gold to Heaven-gate, 

Looks down with wonder at the sudden view 

Of all this World at once. As when a scout, 

Through dark and desert ways with peril gone 

All night, at last by break of cheerful dawn 

Obtains the brow of some high-climbing hill. 

Which to his eye discovers unaware 

The goodly prospect of some foreign land 

First seen, or some renowned metropolis 

With ghstering spires and pinnacles adorned, 550 

Wliich now the rising sun gilds with his beams ; 

Such wonder seized, though after Heaven seen. 

The Spirit malign, but much more envy seized. 

At sight of all this World beheld so fair. 

Round he surveys (and well might, where he stood 

So high above the circling canopy 

Of Night's extended shade) from eastern point 

Of Libra to the fleecy star that bears 

Andromeda far off Atlantic seas 

Beyond the horizon ; then from pole to pole 560 

He views in breadth, — and, without longer pause, 

Down right into the World's first region throws 

His flight precipitant, and winds with ease 

Through the pure marble air his oblique way 

Amongst innumerable stars, that shone 

Stars distant, but nigh-hand seemed other worlds. 

Or other worlds they seemed, or happy isles, 

Like those Hesperian Gardens famed of old. 

Fortunate fields, and groves, and flowery vales ; 

Thrice happy isles! But who dwelt happy there 570 

He staid not to inquire : above them all 

The golden Sun, in splendour likest Heaven, 

Allured his eye. Thither his course he bends, 

Through the calm firmament (but up or down, 

By centre or eccentric, hard to tell, 

Or longitude) where the great luminary. 

Aloof the vulgar constellations thick. 

That from his lordly eye keep distance due, 

Dispenses light from far. They, as they move 



Book III.] PARADISE LOST. 97 

Their starry dance in numbers that compute 580 

Days, months, and years, towards his all-cheering lamp 

Turn swift their various motions, or are turned 

By his magnetic beam, that gently warms 

The Universe, and to each inward part 

With gentle penetration, though unseen. 

Shoots invisible virtue even to the Deep ; 

So wondrously was set his station bright. 

There lands the Fiend, a spot like which perhaps 

Astronomer in the Sun's lucent orb 

Through his glazed optic tube yet never saw. 590 

The place he found beyond expression bright, 

Compared wdth aught on Earth, metal or stone — 

Not all parts like, but all alike informed 

With radiant light, as glowing iron wdth fire. 

If metal, part seemed gold, part silver clear; 

If stone, carbuncle most or chrysolite. 

Ruby or topaz, to the twelve that shone 

In Aaron's breast-plate, and a stone besides, 

Imagined rather oft than elsewhere seen — 

That stone, or like to that, w^hich here below 600 

Philosophers in vain so long have sought ; 

In vain, though by their powerful art they bind 

Volatile Hermes, and call up unbound 

In various shapes old Proteus from the sea. 

Drained through a limbec to his native form. 

What w'onder then if fields and regions here 

Breathe forth elixir pure, and rivers run 

Potable gold, when, with one virtuous touch, 

The arch-chemic Sun, so far from us remote, 

Produces, with terrestrial humour mixed, 610 

Here in the dark so many precious things 

Of colour glorious and effect so rare ? 

Here matter new to gaze the Devil met 

Undazzled. Far and wide his eye commands ; 

For sight no obstacle found here, nor shade. 

But all sunshine, as when his beams at noon 

Culminate from the equator, as they now 

Shot upw'ard still direct, whence no way round 

Shadow from body opaque can fall ; and the air, 

Nowhere so clear, sharpened his visual ray 620 

To objects distant far, w^iereby he soon 

Saw within ken a glorious Angel stand. 

The same whom John saw^ also in the Sun. 

His back was turned, but not his brightness hid ; 

Of beaming sunny rays a golden ttar 

Circled his head, nor less his locks behind 



98 PARADISE LOST. [Book hi. 

Illustrious on his shoulders fledge with wings 

Lay waving round : on some great charge employed 

He seemed, or fixed in cogitation deep. 

Glad was the Spirit impure, as now in hope 630 

To find who might direct his wandering flight 

To Paradise, the happy seat of Man, 

His journey's end, and our beginning woe. 

But first he casts to change his proper shape, 

Which else might work him danger or delay : 

And now a stripling Cherub he appears, 

Not of the prime, yet such as in his face 

Youth smiled celestial, and to every limb 

Suitable grace difflised ; so well he feigned. 

Under a coronet his flowing hair 640 

In curls on either cheek played ; wings he wore 

Of many a coloured plume sprinkled with gold, 

His habit fit for speed succinct, and held 

Before his decent steps a silver wand. 

He drew not nigh unheard ; the Angel bright, 

Ere he drew nigh, his radiant visage turned, 

Admonished by his ear, and straight was known 

The Archangel Uriel — one of the seven 

Who in God's presence, nearest to his throne, 

Stand ready at command, and are his eyes 650 

That run through all the Heavens, or down to the Earth 

Bear his swift errands over moist and dry, 

O'er sea and land. Him Satan thus accosts : — 

" Uriel! for thou of those seven Spirits that stand 
In sight of God's high throne, gloriously bright, 
The first art wont his great authentic will 
Interpreter through highest Heaven to bring, 
Where all his Sons thy embassy attend. 
And here art likeliest by supreme decree 

Like honour to obtain, and as his eye 660 

To visit oft this new Creation round — 
Unspeakable desire to see and know 
All these his wondrous works, but chiefly Man, 
His chief delight and favour, him for whom 
All these his works so wondrous he ordained. 
Hath brought me from the quires of Cherubim 
Alone thus wandering. Brightest Seraph, tell ^ 

In which of all these shining orbs hath Man 
His fixed seat — or fixed seat hath none. 

But all these shining orbs his choice to dwell — 670 

That I may find him, and with secret gaze 
Or open admiration him behold 
On whom the great Creator hath bestowed 



Book hi.] PARADISE LOST. 99 

Worlds, and on whom hath all these graces poured ; 

That both in him and all things, as is meet, 

The Universal Maker we may praise ; 

Who justly hath driven out his rebel foes 

To deepest Hell, and, to repair that loss, 

Created this new happy race of Men 

To serve him better : Wise are all his ways ! " 680 

So spake the false dissembler unperceived ; 
For neither man nor angel can discern 
Hypocrisy — the only evil that walks 
Invisible, except to God alone. 

By his permissive will, through Heaven and Earth ; 
And oft, though Wisdom wake. Suspicion sleeps 
At Wisdom's gate, and to Simplicity 
Resigns her charge, while Goodness thinks no ill 
Where no ill seems : which now for once beguiled 
Uriel, though Regent of the Sun, and held 690 

The sharpest-sighted Spirit of all in Heaven ; 
Who to the fraudulent impostor foul. 
In his uprightness, answer thus returned : — 

"Fair Angel, thy desire, which tends to know 
The works of God, thereby to glorify 
The great W^ork-master, leads to no excess 
That reaches blame, but rather merits praise 
The more it seems excess, that led thee hither 
From thy empyreal mansion thus alone. 

To witness with thine eyes what some perhaps, 700 

Contented with report, hear only in Heaven : 
For wonderful indeed are all his works. 
Pleasant to know, and worthiest to be all 
Had in remembrance always with delight! 
But what created mind can comprehend 
Their number, or the wisdom infinite 
That brought them forth, but hid their causes deep? 
I saw when, at his word, the formless mass. 
This World's material mould, came to a heap : 
Confusion heard his voice, and wild Uproar 710 

Stood ruled, stood vast Infinitude confined; 
Till, at his second bidding, Darkness fled. 
Light shone, and order from disorder sprung. 
Swift to their several quarters hasted then 
The cumbrous elements — Earth, Flood, Air, Fire; 
And this ethereal quintessence of Heaven 
Flew upward, spirited with various forms, 
That rolled orbicular, and turned to stars 
Numberless, as thou seest, and how they move : 
Each had his place appointed, each his course ; 720 



PARADISE LOST. [Book hi. 



The rest in circuit walls this Universe. 

Look downward on that globe, whose hither side 

With light from hence, though but reflected, shines : 

That place is Earth, the seat of Man ; that light 

His day, which else, as the other hemisphere. 

Night would invade ; but there the neighbouring Moon 

(So call that opposite fair star) her aid 

Timely interposes, and, her monthly round 

Still ending, still renewing, through mid-heaven, 

With borrowed light her countenance triform 730 

Hence fills and empties, to enlighten the Earth, 

And in her pale dominion checks the night. 

That spot to which I point is Paradise, 

Adam's abode ; those lofty shades his bower. 

Thy way thou canst not miss; me mine requires." 

Thus said, he turned ; and Satan, bowing low. 
As to superior Spirits is wont in Heaven, 
Where honour due and reverence none neglects. 
Took leave, and toward the coast of Earth beneath, 
Down from the ecliptic, sped with hoped success, 740 

Throws his steep flight in many an aery wheel, 
Nor staid till on Niphates' top he lights. 



THE END OF THE THIRD BOOK. 



PARADISE LOST. 

BOOK IV. 

THE ARGUMENT. 

Satan, now in prospect of Eden, and nigh the place where he must now attempt the bold 
enterprise which he undertook alone against God and Man, falls into many doubts with 
himself, and many passions — fear, envy, and despair; but at length confirms himself in evil; 
journeys on to Paradise, whose outward prospect and situation is described; overleaps the 
bounds; sits, in the shape of a cormorant, on the Tree of Life, as highest in the Garden, 
to look about him. The Garden described; Satan's first sight of Adam and Eve; his wonder 
at their excellent form and happy state, but with resolution to work their fall; overhears their 
discourse; thence gathers that the Tree of Knowledge was forbidden them to eat of under 
penalty of death, and thereon intends to found his temptation by seducing them to transgress; 
then leaves them a while, to know further of their state by some other means. Meanwhile 
Uriel, descending on a sunbeam, warns Gabriel, who had in charge the gate of Paradise, that 
some evil Spirit had escaped the Deep, and passed at noon by his Sphere, in the shape of a 
good Angel, down to Paradise, discovered after by his furious gestures in the mount. Gabriel 
promises to find him ere morning. Night coming on, Adam and Eve discourse of going to 
their rest: their bower described; their evening worship. Gabriel, drawing forth his bands 
of night-watch to walk the rounds of Paradise, appoints two strong Angeis to Adam's bower, 
lest the evil Spirit should be there doing some harm to Adam or Eve sleeping: there they find 
him at the ear of Eve, tempting her in a dream, and bring him, though imwilling, to Gabriel; 
by whom questioned, he scornfully answers; prepares resistance; but, hindered by a sign 
from Heaven, flies out of Paradise. 



o 



FOR that warning voice, which he who saw 



The Apocalypse heard cry in Heaven aloud, 
Then w^hen the Dragon, put to second rout, 
Came furious down to be revenged on men, 
IVoe to the iiihabitaiits 07i Earth I that now, 
While time was, our first parents had been warned 
The coming of their secret foe, and scaped. 
Haply so scaped, his mortal snare! For now 
Satan, now first inflamed with rage, came down, 
The tempter, ere the accuser, of mankind, 
To wreak on innocent frail Man his loss 
Of that first battle, and his flight to Hell. 
Yet not rejoicing in his speed, though bold 
Far off and fearless, nor with cause to boast. 
Begins his dire attempt ; which, nigh the birth 
Now rolling, boils in his tumultuous breast. 



102 PARADISE LOST. [Book iv. 



And like a devilish engine back recoils 

Upon himself. Horror and doubt distract 

His troubled thoughts, and from the bottom stir 

The hell within him ; for within him Hell 20 

He brings, and round about him, nor from Hell 

One step, no more than from himself, can fly 

By change of place. Now conscience wakes despair 

That slumbered ; wakes the bitter memory 

Of what he was, what is, and what must be 

Worse; of worse deeds worse sufferings must ensue! 

Sometimes towards Eden, which now in his view 

Lay pleasant, his grieved look he fixes sad ; 

Sometimes towards Heaven and the full-blazing Sun, 

Which now sat high in his meridian tower : 30 

Then, much revolving, thus in sighs began: — 

"O thou that, with surpassing glory crowned, 
Look'st from thy sole dominion like the god 
Of this new World — at whose sight all the stars 
Hide their diminished heads — to thee I call. 
But with no friendly voice, and add thy name, 

Sun, to tell thee how I hate thy beams. 
That bring to my remembrance from what state 

1 fell, how glorious once above thy sphere. 

Till pride and worse ambition threw me down, 40 

Warring in Heaven against Heaven's matchless King! 

Ah, wherefore? He deserved no such return 

From me, whom he created what I was 

In that bright eminence, and with his good 

Upbraided none ; nor was his service hard. 

What could be less than to afford him praise, 

The easiest recompense, and pay him thanks. 

How due? Yet all his good proved ill in me. 

And wrought but malice. Lifted up so high, 

I sdained subjection, and thought one step higher 50 

Would set me highest, and in a moment quit 

The debt immense of endless gratitude. 

So burdensome, still paying, still to owe ; 

Forgetful what from him I still received ; 

And understood not that a grateful mind 

By owing owes not, but still pays, at once 

Indebted and discharged — what burden then? 

Oh, had his powerful destiny ordained 

Me some inferior Angel, I had stood 

Then happy ; no unbounded hope had raised 60 

Ambition. Yet why not? Some other Power 

As great might have aspired, and me, though mean. 

Drawn to his part. But other Powers as great 



Book iv.] • PARADISE LOST. 103 

Fell not, but stand unshaken, from within 

Or from without to all temptations armed! 

Hadst thou the same free will and power to stand? 

Thou hadst. Whom hast thou then, or what, to accuse, 

But Heaven's free love dealt equally to all? 

Be then his love accursed, since, love or hate. 

To me alike it deals eternal woe. 70 

Nay, cursed be thou ; since against his thy will 

Chose freely what it now so justly rues. 

Me miserable! which way shall I fly 

Infinite wrath and infinite despair? 

Which way I fly is Hell ; myself am Hell ; 

And, in the lowest deep, a lower deep 

Still threatening to devour me opens wide, 

To which the Hell I sulTer seems a Heaven. 

O, then, at last relent! Is there no place 

Left for repentance, none for pardon left? 80 

None left but by submission ; and that word 

Disdain forbids me, and my dread of shame 

Among the Spirits beneath, whom I seduced 

With other promises and other vaunts 

Than to submit, boasting I could subdue 

The Omnipotent. Ay me ! they little know 

How dearly I abide that boast so vain. 

Under what torments inwardly I groan. 

While they adore me on the throne of Hell, 

With diadem and sceptre high advanced, 90 

The lower still I fall, only supreme 

In misery: such joy ambition finds! 

But say I could repent, and could obtain. 

By act of grace, my former state ; how soon 

Would highth recal high thoughts, how soon unsay 

What feigned submission swore ! Ease would recant 

Vows made in pain, as violent and void 

(For never can true reconcilement grow 

Where wounds of deadly hate have pierced so deep) ; 

Which would but lead me to a worse relapse 100 

And heavier fall : so should I purchase dear 

Short intermission, bought with double smart. 

This knows my Punisher ; therefore as far 

From granting he, as I from begging, peace. 

All hope excluded thus, behold, instead 

Of us, outcast, exiled, his new delight; 

Mankind, created, and for him this World ! 

So farewell hope, and, with hope, farewell fear, 

Farewell remorse ! All good to me is lost ; 

Evil, be thou my Good: by thee at least no 



I04 PARADISE LOST. • [Book iv. 

Divided empire with Heaven's King I hold, 

By thee, and more than half perhaps will reign ; 

As Man ere long, and this new World, shall know." 

Thus while he spake, each passion dimmed his face, 
Thrice changed with pale — ire, envy, and despair; 
Which marred his borrowed visage, and betrayed 
Him counterfeit, if any eye beheld : 
For Heavenly minds from such distempers foul 
Are ever clear. Whereof he soon aware 

Each perturbation smoothed with outward calm, 120 

Artificer of fraud ; and was the first 
That practised falsehood under saintly show, 
Deep malice to conceal, couched with revenge : 
Yet not enough had practised to deceive 
Uriel, once warned ; whose eye pursued him down 
The way he went, and on the Assyrian mount 
Saw him disfigured, more than could befall 
Spirit of happy sort : his gestures fierce 
He marked and mad demeanour, then alone, 

As he supposed, all unobserved, unseen. 130 

. So on he fares, and to the border comes 
Of Eden, where delicious Paradise, 
Now nearer, crowns with her enclosure green, 
As with a rural mound, the champain head 
Of a steep wilderness, whose hairy sides 
With thicket overgrown, grotesque and wild, 
Access denied ; and overhead up-grew 
Insuperable highth of loftiest shade. 
Cedar, and pine, and fir, and branching palm, 
A sylvan scene, and, as the ranks ascend 140 

Shade above shade, a woody theatre 
Of stateliest view. Yet higher than their tops 
The verdurous wall of Paradise up-sprung ; 
Which to our general sire gave prospect large 
Into his nether empire neighbouring round. 
And higher than that wall a circling row 
Of goodliest trees, loaden with fairest fruit, 
Blossoms and fruits at once of golden hue, 
Appeared, with gay enamelled colours mixed ; 

On which the sun more glad impressed his beams 150 

Than in fair evening cloud, or humid bow, 
When God hath showered the earth : so lovely seemed 
That landskip. And of "pure now purer air 
Meets his approach, and to the heart inspires 
Vernal delight and joy, able to drive 
All sadness but despair. Now gentle gales. 
Fanning their odoriferous wings, dispense 



Book iv.J PARADISE LOST. 105 

Native perfumes, and whisper whence they stole 
Those balmy spoils. As, when to them who sail 
Beyoiid the Cape of Hope, and now are past 160 

Mozambic, off at sea north-east winds blow 
Sabean odours from the spicy shore 
Of Araby the Blest, with such delay 

Well pleased they slack their course, and many a league 
Cheered with the grateful smell old Ocean smiles ; 
So entertained those odorous sweets the Fiend 
Who came their bane, though with them better pleased 
Than Asmodeus with the fishy fume 
That drove him, though enamoured, from the spouse 
Of Tobit's son, and with a vengeance sent 170 

From Media post to Egypt, there fast bound. 
Now to the ascent of that steep savage hill 
Satan had journeyed on, pensive and slow ; 
But further way found none ; so thick entwined, 
As one continued brake, the undergrowth 
Of shrubs and tangling bushes had perplexed 
All path of man or beast that passed that way. 
One gate there only was, and that looked east 
On the other side. Which when the Arch-Felon saw, 
Due entrance he disdained, and, in contempt, 180 

At one slight bound high overleaped all bound 
Of hill or highest wall, and sheer within 
Lights on his feet. As when a prowling wolf. 
Whom hunger drives to seek new haunt for prey. 
Watching where shepherds pen their flocks at eve, 
In hurdled cotes amid the field secure. 
Leaps o'er the fence with ease into the fold ; 
Or as a thief, bent to unhoard the cash 
Of some rich burgher, whose substantial doors, 
Cross-barred and bolted fast, fear no assault, 190 

In at the window climbs, or o'er the tiles ; 
So clomb this first grand Thief into God's fold : 
So since into his Church lewd hirelings climb. 
Thence up he flew, and on the Tree of Life, 
The middle tree and highest there that grew, 
Sat like a cormorant ; yet not true life 
Thereby regained, but sat devising death 
To them who lived ; nor on the virtue thought 
Of that life-giving plant, but only used 

For prospect what, well used, had been the pledge 200 

Of immortality. So little knows 
Any, but God alone, to value right 
The good before him, but perverts best things 
To worst abuse, or to their meanest use. 



io6 PARADISE LOST. [Book iv. 



Beneath him, with new wonder, now he views, 

To all delight of human sense exposed, 

In narrow room Nature's whole wealth; yea, more! — 

A Heaven on Earth : for blissful Paradise 

Of God the garden was, by him in the east 

Of Eden planted. Eden stretched her line 210 

From Auran eastward to the royal towers 

Of great Seleucia, built by Grecian kings, 

Or where the sons of Eden long before 

Dwelt in Telassar. In this pleasant soil 

His far more pleasant garden God ordained. 

Out of the fertile ground he caused to grow 

All trees of noblest kind for sight, smell, taste ; 

And all amid them stood the Tree of Life, 

High eminent, blooming ambrosial fruit 

Of vegetable gold ; and next to life, 220 

Our death, the Tree of Knowledge, grew fast by — 

Knowledge of good, bought dear by knowing ill. 

Southward through Eden went a river large. 

Nor changed his course, but through the shaggy hill 

Passed underneath ingulfed ; for God had thrown 

That mountain, as his garden-mould, high raised 

Upon the rapid current, which, through veins 

Of porous earth with kindly thirst up-drawn. 

Rose a fresh fountain, and with many a rill 

Watered the garden ; thence united fell 230 

Down the steep glade, and met the nether flood, 

Which from his darksome passage now appears. 

And now, divided into four main streams, 

Runs diverse, wandering many a famous realm 

And country whereof here needs no account ; 

But rather to tell how, if Art could tell 

How, from that sapphire fount the crisped brooks, 

Rolling on orient pearl and sands of gold. 

With mazy error under pendent shades 

Ran nectar, visiting each plant, and fed ^ 240 

Flowers worthy of Paradise, which not nice Art 

In beds and curious knots, but Nature boon 

Poured forth profuse on hill, and dale, and plain, 

Both where the morning sun first warmly smote 

The open field, and where the unpierced shade 

Imbrowned the noontide bowers. Thus was this place, 

A happy rural seat of various view : 

Groves wliose rich trees wept odorous gums and balm ; 

Others whose fruit, burnished with golden rind, 

Hung amiable — Hesperian fables true, 250 

If true, here onlv — and of delicious taste. 



Book iv.] PARADISE LOST. 107 

Betwixt them lawns, or level downs, and flocks 

Grazing the tender herb, were interposed, 

Or palmy hillock ; or the flowery lap 

Of some irriguous valley spread her store. 

Flowers of all hue, and without thorn the rose. 

Another side, umbrageous grots and caves 

Of cool recess, o^er which the mantling vine 

Lays forth her purple grape, and gently creeps 

Luxuriant ; meanwhile murmuring waters fall 260 

Down the slope hills dispersed, or in a lake, 

That to the fringed bank with myrtle crowned 

Her crystal mirror holds, unite their streams. 

The birds their quire apply ; airs, vernal airs, 

Breathing the smell of field and grove, attune 

The trembling leaves, while universal Pan, 

Knit with the Graces and the Hours in dance, 

Led on the eternal Spring. Not that fair field 

Of Enna, where Proserpin gathering flowers. 

Herself a fairer flower, by gloomy Dis 270 

Was gathered — which cost Ceres all that pain 

To seek her through the world — nor that sweet grove 

Of Daphne, by Orontes and the inspired 

Castalian spring, might with this Paradise 

Of Eden strive ; nor that Nyseian isle, 

Girt with the river Triton, where old Cham, 

Whom Gentiles Amnion call and Libyan Jove, 

Hid Amalthea, and her florid son. 

Young Bacchus, from his stepdame Rhea's eye ; 

Nor, where Abassin kings their issue guard, 280 

Mount Amara (though this by some supposed 

True Paradise) under the Ethiop line 

By Nilus' head, enclosed with shining rock, 

A whole day's journey high, but wide remote 

From this Assyrian garden, where the Fiend 

Saw undelighted all delight, all kind 

Of living creatures, new to sight and strange. 

Two of far nobler shape, erect and tall, 

God-like erect, with native honour clad 

In naked majesty, seemed lords of all, 290 

And worthy seemed ; for in their looks divine 

The image of their glorious Maker shone. 

Truth, wisdom, sanctitude severe and pure — 

Severe, but in true filial freedom placed, 

Whence true authority in men : though both 

Not equal, as their sex not equal seemed ; 

For contemplation he and valour formed, 

For softness she and sweet attractive grace : 



io8 PARADISE LOST, [Book iv. 



He for God only, she for God in him. 

His fair large front and eye sublime declared 300 

Absolute rule ; and hyacinthine locks 

Round from his parted forelock manly hung 

Clustering, but not beneath his shoulders broad : 

She, as a veil down to the slender waist. 

Her unadorned golden tresses wore 

Dishevelled, but in wanton ringlets waved 

As the vine curls her tendrils — which implied 

Subjection, but required with gentle sway, 

And by her yielded, by him best received 

Yielded, with coy submission, modest pride, 310 

And sweet, reluctant, amorous delay. 

Nor those mysterious parts were then concealed ; 

Then was not guilty shame. Dishonest shame 

Of Nature's works, honour dishonourable. 

Sin-bred, how have ye troubled all mankind 

With shows instead, mere shows of seeming pure, 

And banished from man\s life his happiest life. 

Simplicity and spotless innocence! 

So passed they naked on, nor shunned the sight 

Of God or Angel ; for they thought no ill : 320 

So hand in hand they passed, the loveliest pair 

That ever since in love's embraces met — 

Adam the goodliest man of men since born 

His sons ; the fairest of her daughters Eve. 

Under a tuft of shade that on a green 

Stood whispering soft, by a fresh fountain-side, 

They sat them down ; and, after no more toil 

Of their sweet gardening labour than suffice 

To recommend cool Zephyr, and make ease 

More easy, wholesome thirst and appetite 330 

More grateful, to their supper-fruits they fell — 

Nectarine fruits, which the compliant boughs 

Yielded them, sidelong as they sat recline 

On the soft downy bank damasked with flowers. 

The savoury pulp they chew, and in the rind. 

Still as they thirsted, scoop the brimming stream ; 

Nor gentle purpose, nor endearing smiles 

Wanted, nor youthful dalliance, as beseems 

Fair couple linked in happy nuptial league, 

Alone as they. About them frisking played 340 

All beasts of the earth, since wild, and of all chase 

In wood or wilderness, forest or den. 

Sporting the lion ramped, and in his paw 

Dandled the kid ; bears, tigers, ounces, pards. 

Gambolled before them ; the unwieldy elephant, 



Book iv.] PARADISE LOST, 109 

To make them mirth, used all his might, and wreathed 

His lithe proboscis ; close the serpent sly, 

Insinuating, wove with Gordian twine 

His braided train, and of his fatal guile 

Gave proof unheeded. Others on the grass 350 

Couched, and, now filled with pasture, gazing sat, 

Or bedward ruminating ; for the sun, 

Declined, was hastening now with prone career 

To the Ocean Isles, and in the ascending scale 

Of Heaven the stars that usher evening rose : 

When Satan, still in gaze as first he stood. 

Scarce thus at length failed speech recovered sad: — 

"O Hell! what do mine eyes with grief behold? 
Into our room of bliss thus high advanced 

Creatures of other mould — Earth-born perhaps, 360 

Not Spirits, yet to Heavenly Spirits bright 
Little inferior — whom my thoughts pursue 
With wonder, and could love ; so lively shines 
In them divine resemblance, and such grace 
The hand that formed them on their shape hath poured. 
Ah! gentle pair, ye little think how nigh 
Your change approaches, when all these delights 
Will vanish, and deliver ye to woe — 
More woe, the more your taste is now of joy : 
Happy, but for so happy ill secured 370 

Long to continue, and this high seat, your Heaven, 
111 fenced for Heaven to keep out such a foe 
As now is entered; yet no purposed foe 
To you, whom I could pity thus forlorn, 
Though I unpitied. League with you I seek. 
And mutual amity, so strait, so close. 
That I with you must dwell, or you with me. 
Henceforth. My dwelling, haply, may not please, 
Like this fair Paradise, your sense ; yet such 

Accept your Maker's work ; he gave it me, 380 

Which I as freely give. Hell shall unfold. 
To entertain you two, her widest gates. 
And send forth all her kings ; there will be room. 
Not like these narrow limits, to receive 
Your numerous offspring ; if no better place. 
Thank him who puts me, loath, to this revenge 
On you, who wrong me not, for him who wronged. 
And, should I at your harmless innocence 
Melt, as I do, yet public reason just — 

Honour and empire with revenge enlarged 390 

By conquering this new World — compels me now 
To do what else, though damned, I should abhor.'" 



no PARADISE LOST. [Book iv. 

So spake the Fiend, and with necessity, 
The tryant^s plea, excused his deviHsh deeds. 
Then from his lofty stand on that high tree 
Down he alights among the sportful herd 
Of those four-footed kinds, himself now one. 
Now other, as their shape served best his end 
Nearer to view his prey, and, unespied, 

To mark what of their state he more might learn 400 

By word or action marked. About them round 
A lion now he stalks with fiery glare ; 
Then as a tiger, who by chance hath spied 
In some purlieu two gentle fawns at play. 
Straight crouches close ; then, rising, changes oft 
His couchant watch, as one who chose his ground. 
Whence rushing he might surest seize them both 
Griped in each paw : when Adam, first of men. 
To first of women. Eve, thus moving speech. 
Turned him all ear to hear new utterance flow : — 410 

" Sole partner and sole part of all these joys. 
Dearer thyself than all, needs must the Power 
That made us, and for us this ample World, 
Be infinitely good, and of his good 
As liberal and free as infinite ; 
That raised us from the dust, and placed us heie 
In all this happiness, who at his hand 
Have nothing merited, nor can perform 
Aught whereof he hath need ; he who requires 
From us no other service than to keep 420 

This one, this easy charge — of all the trees 
In Paradise that bear delicious fruit 
So various, not to taste that only Tree 
Of Knowledge, planted by the Tree of Life; 
So near grows Death to Life, whatever Death is — 
Some dreadful thing no doubt ; for well thou know'st 
God hath pronounced it Death to taste that Tree : 
The only sign of our obedience left 
Among so many signs of power and rule 

Conferred upon us, and dominion given 430 

Over all other creatures that possess 
Earth, Air, and Sea. Then let us not think hard 
One easy prohibition, who enjoy 
Free leave so large to all things else, and choice 
Unlimited of manifold delights ; 
But let us ever praise him, and extol 
His bounty, following our delightful task. 
To prune these growing plants, and tend these flowers ; 
Which, were it toilsome, yet with thee were sweet."* 



Book iv.] PARADISE LOST. 



To whom thus Eve repUed : — " O thou for whom 440 

And from whom I was formed flesh of thy flesh, 
And without whom am to no end, my guide 
And head! what thou hast said is just and right. 
For we to him, indeed, all praises owe, 
And daily thanks — I chiefly, who enjoy 
So far the happier lot, enjoying thee 
Pre-eminent by so much odds, while thou 
Like consort to thyself canst nowhere find. 
That day I oft remember, when from sleep 

I first awaked, and found myself reposed, 450 

Under a shade, on flowers, much wondering where 
And what I was, whence thither brought, and how. 
Not distant far from thence a murmuring sound 
Of waters issued from a cave, and spread 
Into a liquid plain ; then stood unmoved. 
Pure as the expanse of Heaven. I thither went 
With unexperienced thought, and laid me down 
On the green bank, to look into the clear 
Smooth lake, that to me seemed another sky. 

As I bent down to look, just opposite 460 

A shape within the watery gleam appeared, 
Bending to look on me. I started back, 
It started back ; but pleased I soon returned. 
Pleased it returned as soon with answering looks 
Of sympathy and love. There I had fixed 
Mine eyes till now, and pined with vain desire. 
Had not a voice thus warned me : ' What thou seest, 
What there thou seest, fair creature, is thyself; 
With thee it came and goes : but follow me. 

And I will bring thee where no shadow stays 470 

Thy coming, and thy soft embraces — he 
Whose image thou art ; him thou shalt enjoy 
Inseparably thine; to him shalt bear 
Multitudes like thyself, and thence be called 
Mother of human race.' What could I do, 
But follow straight, invisibly thus led? 
Till I espied thee, fair, indeed, and tall, 
Under a platane ; yet methought less fair, 
Less winning soft, less amiably mild. 

Than that smooth watery image. Back I turned; 480 

Thou, following, cried'st aloud, ' Return, fair Eve ; 
Whom fliest thou? Whom thou fliest, of him thou art. 
His flesh, his bone ; to give thee being I lent 
Out of my side to thee, nearest my heart. 
Substantial life, to have thee by my side 
Henceforth an individual solace dear : 



112 PARADISE LOST. [Book iv. 



Part of my soul I seek thee, and thee claim 

My other half.' With that thy gentle hand 

Seized mine : I yielded, and from that time see 

How beauty is excelled by manly grace 49° 

And wisdom, which alone is truly fair." 

So spake our general mother, and, with eyes 
Of conjugal attraction unreproved, 
And meek surrender, half-embracing leaned 
On our first father; half her swelhng breast 
Naked met his, under the flowing gold 
Of her loose tresses hid. He, in delight 
Both of her beauty and submissive charms, 
Smiled with superior love, as Jupiter 

On Juno smiles when he impregns the clouds 500 

That shed May flowers, and pressed her matron lip 
With kisses pure. Aside the Devil turned 
For envy; yet with jealous leer malign 
Eyed them askance, and to himself thus plained : — 

" Sight hateful, sight tormenting! Thus these two, 
Imparadised in one another's arms, 
The happier Eden, shall enjoy their fill 
Of bliss on bliss ; while I to Hell am thrust. 
Where neither joy nor love, but fierce desire. 

Among our other torments not the least, 510 

Still unfulfilled, with pain of longing pines! 
Yet let me not forget what I have gained 
From their own mouths. All is not theirs, it seems ; 
One fatal tree there stands, of Knowledge called. 
Forbidden them to taste. Knowledge forbidden? 
Suspicious, reasonless! Why should their Lord 
Envy them that? Can it be sin to know? 
Can it be death? And do they only stand 
By ignorance? Is that their happy state, 

The proof of their obedience and their faith? 520 

O fair foundation laid whereon to build 
Their ruin! Hence I will excite their minds 
With more desire to know, and to reject 
Envious commands, invented with design 
To keep them low, whom knowledge might exalt 
Equal with gods. Aspiring to be such. 
They taste and die : what likelier can ensue ? 
But first with narrow search I must walk round 
This garden, and no corner leave unspied ; 

A chance but chance mav lead where I may meet 530 

Some wandering Spirit of Heaven, by fountain-side. 
Or in thick shade retired, from him to draw 
What further would be learned. Live while ye may, 



Book IV.] PARADISE LOST. 113 

Yet happy pair ; enjoy, till I return, 

Short pleasures; for long woes are to succeed!" 

So saying, his proud step he scornful turned, 
But with sly circumspection, and began 

Through wood, through waste, o'er hill, o'er dale, his roam. 
Meanwhile in utmost longitude, where Heaven 
With Earth and Ocean meets, the setting Sun 540 

Slowly descended, and with right aspect 
Against the eastern gate of Paradise 
Levelled his evening rays. It was a rock 
Of alabaster, piled up to the clouds. 
Conspicuous far, winding with one ascent 
Accessible from Earth, one entrance high ; 
The rest was craggy cliff, that overhung 
Still as it rose, impossible to cHmb. 
Betwixt these rocky pillars Gabriel sat. 

Chief of the angelic guards, awaiting night ; 550 

About him exercised heroic games 
The unarmed youth of Heaven ; but nigh at hand 
Celestial armoury, shields, helms, and spears. 
Hung high, with diamond flaming and with gold. 
Thither came Uriel, gliding through the even 
On a sunbeam, swift as a shooting star 
In autumn thwarts the night, when vapours fired 
Impress the air, and shows the mariner 
From what point of his compass to beware 
Impetuous winds. He thus began in haste: — 560 

" Gabriel, to thee thy course by lot hath given 
Charge and strict Avatch that to this happy place 
No evil thing approach or enter in. 
This day at highth of noon came to my sphere 
A Spirit, zealous, as he seemed, to know 
More of the Almighty's Avorks, and chiefly Man, 
God's latest image. I described his way 
Bent all on speed, and marked his aery gait, 
But in the mount that lies from Eden north, 

Where he first lighted, soon discerned his looks 570 

Alien from Heaven, with passions foul obscured. 
Mine eye pursued him still, but under shade 
Lost sight of him. One of the banished crew, 
I fear, hath ventured from the Deep, to raise 
New troubles ; him thy care must be to find." 

To whom the winged Warrior thus returned : — 
" Uriel, no wonder if thy perfect sight. 
Amid the Sun's bright circle where thou sitt'st, 
See far and wide. In at this gate none pass 
The vigilance here placed, but such as come 580 



114 PARADISE LOST. [Book iv. 



Well known from Heaven ; and since meridian hour 

No creature thence. If Spirit of other sort, 

So minded, have overleaped these earthy bounds 

On purpose, hard thou know'st it to exclude 

Spiritual substance with corporeal bar. 

But, if within the circuit of these walks, 

In whatsoever shape, he lurk of whom 

Thou telPst, by morrow dawning I shall know." 

So promised he ; and Uriel to his charge 
Returned on that bright beam, whose point now raised 590 

Bore him slope downward to the Sun, now fallen 
Beneath the Azores ; whether the Prime Orb, 
Incredible how swift, had thither rolled 
Diurnal, or this less volubil Earth, 
By shorter flight to the east, had left him there 
Arraying with reflected purple and gold 
The clouds that on his western throne attend. 

Now came still Evening on, and Twilight gray 
Had in her sober livery all things clad ; 

Silence accompanied ; for beast and bird, 600 

They to their grassy couch, these to their nests 
Were slunk, all but the wakeful nightingale. 
She all night long her amorous descant sung : 
Silence was pleased. Now glowed the firmament 
With living sapphires ; Hesperus, that led 
The starry host, rode brightest, till the Moon, 
Rising in clouded majesty, at length 
Apparent queen, unveiled her peerless light. 
And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw ; 

When Adam thus to Eve: — "Fair consort, the hour 610 

Of night, and all things now retired to rest, 
Mind us of like repose ; since God hath set 
Labour and rest, as day and night, to men 
Successive, and the timely dew of sleep. 
Now falling with soft slumberous weight, inclines 
Our eye-lids. Other creatures all day long 
Rove idle, unemployed, and less need rest ; 
Man hath his daily work of body or mind 
Appointed, which declares his dignity. 

And the regard of Heaven on all his ways ; 620 

While other animals unactive range. 
And of their doings God takes no account. 



To-morrow, ere fresh morning streak the east 
With first approach of light, we must be risen, 
And at our pleasant labour, to reform 
Yon flowery arbours, yonder alleys green. 
Our walk at noon, with branches overgrown, 



Book IV.] PARADISE LOST. 



That mock our scant manuring, and require 

More hands than ours to lop their wanton growth. 

Those blossoms also, and those dropping gums, 630 

That lie bestrewn, unsightly and unsmooth, 

Ask riddance, if we mean to tread with ease. 

Meanwhile, as Nature wills. Night bids us rest." 

To whom thus Eve, with perfect beauty adorned : — 
"My author and disposer, what thou bidd'st 
Unargued I obey. So God ordains : 
God is thy law, thou mine : to know no more . 
Is woman's happiest knowledge, and her praise. 
With thee conversing, I forget all time. 
All seasons, and their change ; all please alike. 640 \ 

Sweet is the breath of Morn, her rising sweet, 
With charm of earliest birds ; pleasant the Sun, 
When first on this delightful land he spreads 
His orient beams, on herb, tree, fruit, and flower, 
Glistering with dew ; fragrant the fertile Earth 
After soft showers ; and sv/eet the coming-on 
Of grateful Evening mild ; then silent Night, 
With this her solemn bird, and this fair Moon, 
And these the gems of Heaven, her starry train : 
But neither breath of Morn, when she ascends 650 

With charm of earliest birds ; nor rising Sun 
On this delightful land ; nor herb, fruit, flower. 
Glistering with dew ; nor fragrance after showers ; 
Nor grateful Evening mild ; nor silent Night, 
With this her solemn bird ; nor walk by moon. 
Or glittering star-light, without thee is sweet. 
But wherefore all night long shine these? for whom 
This glorious sight, when sleep hath shut all eyes?" 

To whom our general ancestor replied : — 
"Daughter of God and Man, accomplished Eve, 660 

Those have their course to finish round the Earth 
By morrow evening, and from land to land 
In order, though to nations yet unborn. 
Ministering light prepared, they set and rise ; 
Lest total Darkness should by night regain 
Her old possession, and extinguish life 
In nature and all things ; which these soft fires 
Not only enlighten, but with kindly heat 
Of various influence foment and warm. 

Temper or nourish, or in part shed down 670 

Their stellar virtue on all kinds that grow 
On Earth, made hereby apter to receive 
Perfection from the Sun's more potent ray. ■ 
These, then, though unbeheld in deep of night, 



1 6 PARADISE LOST. [Book iv. 



Shine not in vain. Nor think, though men were none, 

That Heaven would want spectators, God want praise. 

Millions of spiritual creatures walk the Earth 

Unseen, both when we wake, and Avhen we sleep : 

All these with ceaseless praise his works behold 

Both day and night. How often, from the steep 680 

Of echoing hill or thicket, have we heard 

Celestial voices to the midnight air, 

Sole, or responsive each to other's note. 

Singing their great Creator! Oft in bands 

While they keep watch, or nightly rounding walk, 

With heavenly touch of instrumental sounds 

In full harmonic number joined, their songs 

Divide the night, and lift our thoughts to Heaven." 

Thus talking, hand in hand alone they passed 
On to their blissful bower. It was a place 690 

Chosen by the sovran Planter, when he framed 
All things to Man's delightful use. The roof 
Of thickest covert was inwoven shade, 
Laurel and myrtle, and what higher grew 
Of firm and fragrant leaf; on either side 
Acanthus, and each odorous bushy shrub, 
Fenced up the verdant wall ; each beauteous flower. 
Iris all hues, roses, and jessamine, 

Reared high their flourished heads between, and wrought 
Mosaic ; under foot the violet, 700 

Crocus, and hyacinth, with rich inlay 
Broidered the ground, more coloured than with stone 
Of costliest emblem. Other creature here. 
Beast, bird, insect, or worm, durst enter none; 
Such was their awe of Man. In shadier bower 
More sacred and sequestered, though but feigned, 
Pan or Sylvanus never slept, nor Nymph 
Nor Faunus haunted. Here, in close recess, 
With flowers, garlands, and sweet-smelling herbs, 
Espoused Eve decked first her nuptial bed, 710 

And heavenly choirs the hymen?ean sung, 
What day the genial Angel to our sire 
Brought her, in naked beauty more adorned, 
More lovely, than Pandora, whom the gods 
Endowed with all their gifts ; and, O ! too like 
In sad event, when, to the unwiser son 
Of Japhet brought by Hermes, she ensnared 
Mankind with her fair looks, to be avenged 
On him who had stole Jove's authentic fire. 

Thus at their shady lodge arrived, both stood, 720 

Both turned, and under open sky adored 



Book IV.] PARADISE LOST. 117 

The God that made both Sky, Air, Earth, and Heaven, 

Which they beheld, the Moon's resplendent globe, 

And starry Pole: — "Thou also madest the Night, 

Maker Omnipotent ; and thou the Day, 

Which we, in our appointed work employed, 

Have finished, happy in our mutual help 

And mutual love, the crown of all our bliss 

Ordained by thee ; and this delicious place, 

For us too large, where thy abundance wants 730 

Partakers, and uncropt falls to the ground. 

But thou hast promised from us two a race 

To fill the Earth, who shall with us extol 

Thy goodness infinite, both when we wake. 

And when we seek, as now, thy gift of sleep." 

This said unanimous, and other rites 
Observing none, but adoration pure, 
Which God likes best, into their inmost bower 
Handed they went ; and, eased the putting-off 
These troublesome disguises which we wear, 740 

Straight side by side were laid ; nor turned, I ween, 
Adam from his fair spouse, nor Eve the rites 
Mysterious of connubial love refused : 
Whatever hypocrites austerely talk 
Of purity, and place, and innocence. 
Defaming as impure what God declares 
Pure, and commands to some, leaves free to all. 
Our Maker bids increase ; who bids abstain 
But our destroyer, foe to God and Man? 

Hail, wedded Love, mysterious law, true source 75° 

Of human offspring, sole propriety 
In Paradise of all things common else! 
By thee adulterous lust was driven from men 
Among the bestial herds to range ; by thee, 
Founded in reason, loyal, just, and pure, 
Relations dear, and all the charities 
Of father, son, and brother, first were known. 
Far be it that I should write thee sin or blame, 
Or think thee unbefitting holiest place. 

Perpetual fountain of domestic sweets, 760 

Whose bed is undefiled and chaste pronounced. 
Present, or past, as saints and patriarchs used. 
Here Love his golden shafts employs, here lights 
His constant lamp, and waves his purple wings. 
Reigns here and revels ; not in the bought smile 
Of harlots — loveless, joyless, unendeared. 
Casual fruition ; nor in court amours. 
Mixed dance, or wanton mask, or midnight ball, 



PARADISE LOST. ' [Book iv. 



Or serenate, which the starved lover sings 

To his proud fair, best quitted with disdain. 770 

These, lulled by nightingales, embracing slept, 

And on their naked limbs the flowery roof 

Showered roses, which the morn repaired. Sleep on, » 

Blest pair! and, O! yet happiest, if ye seek 

No happier state, and know to know no more! 

Now had Night measured with her shadowy cone 
Half-way up-hill this vast sublunar vault, 
And from their ivory port the Cherubim 
Forth issuing, at the accustomed hour, stood armed 
To their night-watches in warlike parade ; 780 

When Gabriel to his next in power thus spake : — 

" Uzziel, half these draw off, and coast the south 
With strictest watch ; these other wheel the north : 
Our circuit meets full west." As flame they part, 
Half wheeling to the shield, half to the spear. 
From these, two strong and subtle Spirits he called 
That near him stood, and gave them thus in charge : — 

" Ithuriel and Zephon, with winged speed 
Search through this Garden ; leave unsearched no nook ; 
But chiefly where those two fair creatures lodge, 790 

Now laid perhaps asleep, secure of harm. 
This evening from the Sun's decline arrived 
Who tells of some infernal Spirit seen 
Hitherward bent (who could have thought?), escaped 
The bars of Hell, on errand bad, no doubt : 
Such, where ye find, seize fast, and hither bring." 

So saying, on he led his radiant files, 
Dazzling the moon; these to the bower direct 
In search of whom they sought. Him there they found 
Squat like a toad, close at the ear of Eve, 800 

Assaying by his devilish art to reach 
The organs of her fancy, and with them forge 
Illusions as he list, phantasms and dreams ; 
Or if, inspiring venom, he might taint 
The animal spirits, that from pure blood arise 
Like gentle breaths from rivers pure, thence raise, 
At least distempered, discontented thoughts, 
Vain hopes, vain aims, inordinate desires, 
Blown up with high conceits engendering pride. 
Him thus intent Ithuriel with his spear 810 

Touched lightly ; for no falsehood can endure 
Touch of celestial temper, but returns 
Of force to its own likeness. Up he starts. 
Discovered and surprised. As, when a spark 
Lights on a heap of nitrous powder, laid 



Book IV.] PARADISE LOST. 119 

Fit for the tun, some magazine to store 

Against a rumoured war, the smutty grain. 

With sudden blaze diffused, inflames the air; 

So started up, in his own shape, the Fiend. 

Back stept those two fair Angels, half amazed 820 

So sudden to behold the grisly King ; 

Yet thus, unmoved with fear, accost him soon : — . 

" Which of those rebel Spirits adjudged to Hell 
Com'st thou, escaped thy prison? and, transformed, 
Why satfst thou like an enemy in wait. 
Here watching at the head of these that sleep ? " 

"Know ye not, then," said Satan, filled with scorn, 
"Know ye not me? Ye knew me once no mate 
For you, there sitting where ye durst not soar! 
Not to know me argues yourselves unknown, 830 

The lowest of your throng ; or, if ye know. 
Why ask ye, and superfluous begin 
Your message, like to end as much in vain?" 

To whom thus Zephon, answering scorn with scorn : — 
"Think not, revolted Spirit, thy shape the same, 
Or undiminished brightness, to be known 
As when thou stood'st in Heaven upright and pure. 
That glory then, when thou no more wast good, 
Departed from thee ; and thou resemblest now 
Thy sin and place of doom obscure and foul. 840 

But come ; for thou, be sure, shalt give account 
To him who sent us, whose charge is to keep 
This place inviolable, and these from harm." 

So spake the Cherub ; and his grave rebuke. 
Severe in youthful beauty, added grace 
Invincible. Abashed the Devil stood, 
And felt how awful goodness is, and saw 
Virtue in her shape how lovely — saw, and pined 
His loss ; but chiefly to find here observed 

His lustre visibly impaired ; yet seemed 850 

Undaunted. " If I must contend," said he, 
"Best with the best — the sender, not the sent; 
Or all at once : more glory will be won. 
Or less be lost." "Thy fear," said Zephon bold, 
"Will save us trial what the least can do 
Single against thee wicked, and thence weak." 

The Fiend "replied not, overcome with rage; 
But, like a proud steed reined, went haughty on, 
Champing his iron curb. To strive or fly 

He held it vain; awe from above had quelled 860 

His heart, not else dismayed. Now drew they nigh 
The western point, where those half-rounding guards 



PARADISE LOST. [Book iv. 



Just met, and, closing, stood in squadron joined, 
Awaiting next command. To whom their chief, 
Gabriel, from the front thus called aloud : — 

"O friends, I hear the tread of nimble feet 
Hasting this way, and now by glimpse discern 
Ithuriel and Zephon through the shade ; 
And with them comes a third, of regal port, 

But faded splendour wan, who by his gait 870 

And fierce demeanour seems the Prince of Hell — 
Not likely to part hence without contest. 
Stand firm, for in his look defiance lours." 

He scarce had ended, when those two approached, 
And brief related whom they brought, where found. 
How busied, in what form and posture couched. 
To whom, with stern regard, thus Gabriel spake : — 
" Why hast thou, Satan, broke the bounds prescribed 
To thy transgressions, and disturbed the charge 
Of others, who approve not to transgress 880 

By thy example, but have power and right 
To question thy bold entrance on this place ; 
Employed, it seems, to violate sleep, and those 
Whose dweUing God hath planted here in bliss?" 

To whom thus Satan, with contemptuous brow: — 
"Gabriel, thou hadst in Heaven the esteem of wise; 
And such I held thee ; but this question asked 
Puts me in doubt. Lives there who loves his pain? 
Who would not, finding w^ay, break loose from Hell, 
Though thither doomed? Thou wouldst thyself, no doubt, 890 
And boldly venture to whatever place 
Farthest from pain, where thou mightst hope to change 
Torment with ease, and soonest recompense 
Dole with delight ; which in this place I sought : 
To thee no reason, who know'st only good. 
But evil hast not tried. And wilt object 
His will who bound us? Let him surer bar 
His iron gates, if he intends our stay 
In that dark durance. Thus much what was asked: 
The rest is true ; they found me where they say ; 900 

But that implies not violence or harm."" 

Thus he in scorn. The warlike Angel moved. 
Disdainfully half smiling, thus replied : — 
" O loss of one in Heaven to judge of wise. 
Since Satan fell, whom folly overthrew. 
And now returns him from his prison scaped. 
Gravely in doubt whether to hold them wise 
Or not who ask what boldness brought him hither 
Unlicensed from his bounds in Hell prescribed! 



Book iv.] PARADISE LOST. 121 

So wise he judges it to fly from pain 910 

However, and to scape his punishment! 

So judge thou still, presumptuous, till the wrath, 

Which thou incurr'st by flying, meet thy flight 

Sevenfold, and scourge that wisdom back to Hell, 

Which taught thee yet no better that no pain 

Can equal anger infinite provoked. 

But wherefore thou alone? Wherefore with thee 

Came not all Hell broke loose? Is pain to them 

Less pain, less to be fled? or thou than they 

Less hardy to endure? Courageous chief, 920 

The first in flight from pain, hadst thou alleged 

To thy deserted host this cause of flight. 

Thou surely hadst not come sole fugitive.''* 

To which the Fiend thus answered, frowning stern : — 
"Not that I less endure, or shrink from pain. 
Insulting Angel! well thou know'st I stood 
Thy fiercest, when in battle to thy aid 
The blasting volleyed thunder made all speed 
And seconded thy else not dreaded spear. 

But still thy words at random, as before, 930 

Argue thy inexperience what behoves. 
From hard assays and ill successes past, 
A faithful leader — not to hazard all 
Through ways of danger by himself untried. 
I, therefore, I alone, first undertook 
To wing the desolate Abyss, and spy 
This new-created World, whereof in Hell 
Fame is not silent, here in hope to find 
Better abode, and my afflicted Powers 

To settle here on Earth, or in mid Air ; 940 

Though for possession put to try once more 
What thou and thy gay legions dare against; 
Whose easier business were to serve their Lord 
High up in Heaven, with songs to hymn his throne, 
And practised distances to cringe, not fight." 

To whom the Warrior-Angel soon replied : — 
"To say and straight unsay, pretending first 
Wise to fly pain, professing next the spy, 
Argues no leader, but a liar traced, 

Satan ; and couldst thou ' faithful ' add ? O name, 950 

O sacred name of faithfulness profaned! 
Faithful to whom? to thy rebellious crew? 
Army of fiends, fit body to fit head! 
Was this your discipline and faith engaged, 
Your military obedience, to dissolve 
Allegiance to the acknowledged Power Supreme: 



[22 PARADISE LOST. [Book iv. 



And thou, sly hypocrite, who now wouldst seem 

Patron of liberty, who more than thou 

Once fawned, and cringed, and servilely adored 

Heaven's awful Monarch? wherefore, but in hope 960 

To dispossess him, and thyself to reign? 

But mark what I areed thee now: Avaunt! 

Fly thither whence thou fledd'st. If from this hour 

Within these hallowed limits thou appear. 

Back to the Infernal Pit I drag thee chained, 

And seal thee so as henceforth not to scorn 

The facile gates of Hell too slightly barred." 

So threatened he ; but Satan to no threats 
Gave heed, but waxing more in rage, replied: — 

"Then, when I am thy captive, talk of chains, 970 

Proud limitary Cherub! but ere then 
Far heavier load thyself expect to feel 
From my prevailing arm, though Heaven's King 
Ride on thy wings, and thou with thy compeers. 
Used to the yoke, draw'st his triumphant wheels 
In progress through the road of Heaven star-paved." 

While thus he spake, the angelic squadron bright 
Turned fiery red, sharpening in mooned horns 
Their phalanx, and began to hem him round 

With ported spears, as thick as when a field 980 

Of Ceres ripe for harvest waving bends 
Her bearded grove of ears which way the wind 
Sways them ; the careful ploughman doubting stands 
Lest on the threshing-floor his hopeful sheaves 
Prove chaflf. On the other side, Satan, alarmed, 
Collecting all his might, dilated stood. 
Like Teneriff" or Atlas, unremoved : 
His stature reached the sky, and on his crest 
Sat Horror plumed ; nor wanted in his grasp 

What seemed both spear and shield. Now dreadful deeds 990 
Might have ensued ; nor only Paradise, 
In this commotion, but the starry cope 
Of Heaven perhaps, or all the Elements 
At least, had gone to wrack, disturbed and torn 
With violence of this conflict, had not soon 
The Eternal, to prevent such horrid fray. 
Hung forth in Heaven his golden scales, yet seen 
Betwixt Astraea and the Scorpion sign, 
Wherein all things created first he weighed, 

The pendulous round Earth with balanced air 1000 

In counterpoise, now ponders all events. 
Battles and realms. In these he put two weights, 
The sequel each of parting and of fight : 



t 



Book iv.] PARADISE LOST. 123 

The latter quick up flew, and kicked the beam ; 
Which Gabriel spying thus bespake the Fiend : — 

"Satan, I know thy strength, and thou know\st mine, 
Neither our own, but given ; what folly then 
To boast what arms can do! since thine no more 
Than Heaven permits, nor mine, though doubled now 
To trample thee as mire. For proof look up, i 

And read thy lot in yon celestial sign. 

Where thou art weighed, and shown how light, how weak 
If thou resist." The Fiend looked up, and knew 
His mounted scale aloft : nor more ; but fled 
Murmuring; and with him fled the shades of Night. 



THE END OF THE FOURTH BOOK. 



PARADISE LOST. 



BOOK V. 



THE ARGUMENT. 

Morning approached, Eve relates to Adam her troublesome dream; he likes it not, yet 
comforts her: they come forth to their day labours: their morning hymn at the door of 
their bower. God, to render Man inexcusable, sends Raphael to admonish him of his obedi- 
ence, of his free estate, of his enemy near at hand, who he is, and why his enemy, and 
whatever else may avail i\.dam to know. Raphael comes down to Paradise; his appearance 
described; his coming discerned by Adam afar off, sitting at the door of his bower; he goes 
out to meet him, brings him to his lodge, entertains him with the choicest fruits of Paradise, 
got together by Eve; their discourse at table. Raphael performs his message, minds Adam 
of his state and of his enemy; relates, at Adam's request, who that enemy is, and how he 
came to be so, beginning from his first revolt in Heaven, and the occasion thereof; how he 
drew his legions after him to the parts of the North, and there incited them to rebel with 
him, persuading all but only Abdiel, a seraph, who in argument dissuades and opposes him, 
then forsakes him. 

NOW Morn, her rosy steps in the eastern clime 
Advancing, sowed the earth with orient pearl, 
When Adam waked, so customed ; for his sleep 
Was aery light, from pure digestion bred. 
And temperate vapours bland, which the only sound 
Of leaves and fuming rills, Aurora's fan. 
Lightly dispersed, and the shrill matin song 
Of birds on every bough. So much the more 
His wonder was to find unwakened Eve, 

With tresses discomposed, and glowing cheek, lo 

As through unquiet rest. He, on his side 
Leaning half raised, with looks of cordial love 
Hung over her enamoured, and beheld 
Beauty which, whether waking or asleep. 
Shot forth peculiar graces ; then, with voice 
Mild as when Zephyrus on Flora breathes. 
Her hand soft touching, whispered thus: — "Awake, 
My fairest, my espoused, my latest found. 
Heaven's last, best gift, my ever-new delight! 
Awake! the morning shines, and the fresh field 20 

Calls us ; we lose the prime to mark how spring 

124 



Book v.] PARADISE LOST. 125 

Our tended plants, how blows the citron grove, 
What drops the myrrh, and what the balmy reed. 
How Nature paints her colours, how the bee 
Sits on the bloom extracting liquid sweet." 

Such whispering waked her, but with startled eye 
On Adam ; whom embracing, thus she spake : — 

"O sole in whom my thoughts find all repose, 
My glory, my perfection! glad I see 

Thy face, and morn returned ; for I this night 30 

(Such night till this I never passed) have dreamed, 
If dreamed, not, as I oft am wont, of thee. 
Works of day past, or morrow's next design ; 
But of offence and trouble, which my mind 
Knew never till this irksome night. Methought 
Close at mine ear one called me forth to walk 
With gentle voice; I thought it thine. It said, 
'Why sleep'st thou, Eve? now is the pleasant time. 
The cool, the silent, save where silence yields 
To the night-warbling bird, that now awake 40 

Tunes sweetest his love-laboured song ; now reigns 
Full-orbed the moon, and, with more pleasing light, 
Shadowy sets off the face of things — in vain, 
If none regard. Heaven wakes with all his eyes; 
Whom to behold but thee, Nature's desire. 
In whose sight all things joy, with ravishment 
Attracted by thy beauty still to gaze?' 
I rose as at thy call, but found thee not : 
To find thee I directed then my walk ; 

And on, methought, alone I passed through ways 50 

That brought me on a sudden to the tree 
Of interdicted knowledge. Fair it seemed, 
Much fairer to my fancy than by day; 
And, as I wondering looked, beside it stood 
One shaped and winged like one of those from Heaven 
By us oft seen : his dewy locks distilled 
Ambrosia. On that tree he also gazed ; 
And, ' O fair plant,' said he, ' with fnnt surcharged, 
Deigns none to ease thy load, and taste thy sweet, 
Nor God nor Man? Is knowledge so despised? 60 

Or envy, or what reserve forbids to taste? 
Forbid who will, none shall from me withhold 
Longer thy offered good, why else set here?' 
This said, he paused not, but with venturous arm 
He plucked, he tasted. Me damp horror chilled 
At such bold words vouched with a deed so bold ; 
But he thus, overjoyed : ' O fruit divine, 
Sweet of thyself, but much more sweet thus cropt, 



f- 



126 PARADISE LOST. [Book v. 



Forbidden here, it seems, as only fit 

For gods, yet able to make gods of men! 70 

And why not gods of men, since good, the more 
Communicated, more abundant grows. 
The author not impaired, but honoured more? 
Here, happy creature, fair angelic Eve! 
Partake thou^ also : happy though thou art. 
Happier thou may'st be, worthier canst not be. 
Taste this, and be henceforth among the gods 
Thyself a goddess ; not to Earth confined. 
But sometimes in the Air, as we ; sometimes 

Ascend to Heaven, by merit thine, and see 80 

What life the gods live there, and such live thou.' 
So saying, he drew nigh, and to me held. 
Even to my mouth of that same fruit held part 
Which he had plucked : the pleasant savoury smell 
So quickened appetite that I, methought. 
Could not but taste. Forthwith up to the clouds 
With him I flew, and underneath beheld 
The Earth outstretched immense, a prospect wide 
And various. Wondering at my flight and change 
To this high exaltation, suddenly 90 

My guide was gone, and I, methought, sunk down, 
And fell asleep ; but, O, how glad I waked 
To find this but a dream!" Thus Eve her night 
Related, and thus Adam answered sad : — 
" Best image of myself, and dearer half. 
The trouble of thy thoughts this night in sleep 
Affects me equally ; nor can I like 
This uncouth dream — of evil sprung, I fear; 
Yet evil whence? In thee can harbour none, 

Created pure. But know that in the soul loo 

Are many lesser faculties, that serve 
Reason as chief. Among these Fancy next 
Her office holds ; of all external things. 
Which the five watchful senses represent, 
She forms imaginations, aery shapes. 
Which Reason, joining or disjoining, frames 
All what we affirm or what deny, and call 
Our knowledge or opinion ; then retires 
Into her private cell when Nature rests. 

Oft, in her absence^,, mimic Fancy wakes no 

To imitate her; but, misjoining shapes, 
Wild work produces oft, and most in dreams, 
111 matching words and deeds long past or late. 
Some such resemblances, methinks, I find 
Of our last evening's talk in this thy dream, 



Book v.] PARADISE LOST. 127 

But with addition strange. Yet be not sad : 

Evil into the mind of God or Man 

May come and go, so unapproved, and leave 

No spot or blame behind ; which gives me hope 

That what in sleep thou didst abhor to dream 120 

Waking thou never wilt consent to do. 

Be not disheartened, then, nor cloud those looks, 

That wont to be more cheerful and serene 

Than when fair Morning first smiles on the world ; 

And let us to our fresh employments rise 

Among the groves, the fountains, and the flowers, 

That open now their choicest bosomed smells, 

Reserved from night, and kept for thee in store.'" 

So cheered he his fair spouse ; and she was cheered. 
But silently a gentle tear let fall 130 

From either eye, and wiped them with her hair: 
Two other precious drops that ready stood, 
Each in their crystal sluice, he, ere they fell, 
Kissed as the gracious signs of sweet remorse 
And pious awe, that feared to have offended. 

So all was cleared, and to the field they haste. 
But first, from under shady arborous roof 
Soon as they forth were come to open sight 
Of day-spring, and the Sun — who, scarce uprisen, 
With wheels yet hovering o'er the ocean-brim, 140 

Shot parallel to the Earth his dewy ray, 
Discovering in wide landskip all the east 
Of Paradise and Eden's happy plains — 
Lowly they bowed, adoring, and began 
Their orisons, each morning duly paid 
In various style ; for neither various style 
Nor holy rapture wanted they to praise 
Their Maker, in fit strains pronounced, or sung 
Unmeditated ; such prompt eloquence 

Flowed from their lips, in prose or numerous verse, 150 

More tuneable than needed lute or harp 
To add more sweetness : And they thus began : — 

"These are thy glorious works. Parent of good, 
Almighty! thine this universal frame. 
Thus wondrous fair : Thyself how wondrous then ! 
Unspeakable! who sitt'st above these heavens 
To us invisible, or dimly seen 
In these thy lowest works ; yet these declare 
Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine. 
Speak, ye who best can tell, ye Sons of Light, 160 

Angels — for ye behold him, and with songs 
And choral symphonies, day without night, • 



128 PARADISE LOST: [Book v 



Circle his throne rejoicing — ye in Heaven; 
On Earth join, all ye creatures, to extol 
Him tirst, him last, him midst, and without end. 
Fairest of Stars, last in the train of Night, 
If better thou belong not to the Dawn, 
Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the smiling morn 
With thy bright circlet, praise him in thy sphere 
While day arises, that sweet hour of prime. 170 

Thou Sun, of this great World both eye and soul, 
Acknowledge him thy greater ; sound his praise 
In thy eternal course, both when thou climb'st, 
And when high noon hast gained, and when thou fall'st. 
Moon, that now meefst the orient Sun, now fliest, 
With the fixed Stars, fixed in their orb that flies ; 
And ye five other wandering Fires, that move 
In mystic dance, not without song, resound 
His praise who out of Darkness called up Light. 
Air, and ye Elements, the eldest birth 180 

Of Nature's womb, that in quaternion run 
Perpetual circle, multiform, and mix 
And nourish all things, let your ceaseless change 
Vary to our great Maker still new praise. 
Ye Mists and Exhalations, that now rise 
From hill or steaming lake, dusky or gray. 
Till the sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold, 
In honour to the World's great Author rise ; 
Whether to deck with clouds the uncoloured sky, 
Or wet the thirsty earth with falling showers, 190 

Rising or falling, still advance his praise. 
His praise, ye Winds, that from four quarters blow. 
Breathe soft or loud ; and wave your tops, ye Pines, 
With every Plant, in sign of worship wave. 
Fountains, and ye, that warble, as ye flow. 
Melodious murmurs, warbling tune his praise. 
Join voices, all ye living Souls. Ye Birds, 
That, singing, up to Heaven-gate ascend. 
Bear on your wings and in your notes his jDraise. 
Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk • 200 

The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep, 
Witness if / be silent, morn or even. 
To hill or valley, fountain, or fresh shade. 
Made vocal by my song, and taught his praise. 
Hail, universal Lord! Be bounteous still 
To give us only good ; and, if the night 
Have gathered aught of evil, or concealed. 
Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark." 
So prayed they innocent, and to their thoughts 



Book v.] PARADISE LOST. 129 

Firm peace recovered soon, and wonted calm. 210 

On to their morning's rural work they haste, 

Among sweet dews and flowers, where any row 

Of fruit-trees, over-woody, reached too far 

Their pampered boughs, and needed hands to check 

Fruitless embraces : or they led the vine 

To wed her elm ; she, spoused, about him twines 

Her marriageable arms, and with her brings 

Her dower, the adopted clusters, to adorn 

His barren leaves. Them thus employed beheld 

With pity Heaven's high King, and to him called 220 

Raphael, the sociable Spirit, that deigned 

To travel with Tobias, and secured 

His marriage with the seven-times-wedded maid. 

"Raphael," said he, "thou hear'st what stir on Earth 
Satan, from Hell scaped through the darksome Gulf, 
Hath raised in Paradise, and how disturbed 
This night the human pair ; how he designs 
In them at once to niin all mankind. 
Go, therefore ; half this day, as friend with friend, 
Converse with Adam, in what bower or shade 230 

Thou find'st him from the heat of noon retired 
To respite his day-labour with repast 
Or with repose ; and such discourse bring on 
As may advise him of his happy state — 
Happiness in his power left free to will, 
Left to his own free will, his will though free 
Yet mutable. Whence warm him to beware 
He swerve not, too secure ; tell him withal 
His danger, and from whom ; what enemy, 

Late fallen himself from Heaven, is plotting now 240 

The fall of others from like state of bliss. 
By violence? no, for that shall be withstood; 
But by deceit and lies. This let him know, 
Lest, wilfully transgressing, he pretend 
Surprisal, unadmonished, unforewarned." 

So spake the Eternal Father, and fulfilled 
All justice. Nor delayed the winged Saint 
After his charge received ; but from among 
Thousand celestial Ardours, where he stood 

Veiled with his gorgeous wings, upspringing light, 250 

Flew through the midst of Heaven. The angelic quires, 
On each hand parting, to his speed gave way 
Through all the empyreal road, till, at the gate 
Of Heaven arrived, the gate self-opened wide, 
On golden hinges turning, as by work 
Divine the sovran Architect had framed. 



I30 PARADISE LOST. [Book v, 



From hence — no cloud or, to obstruct his sight, 

Star interposed, however small — he sees. 

Not unconform to other shining globes. 

Earth, and the Garden of God, with cedars crowned 260 

Above all hills ; as when by night the glass 

Of Galileo, less assured, observes 

Imagined lands and regions in the Moon; 

Or pilot from amidst the Cyclades 

Delos or Samos first appearing kens, 

A cloudy spot. Down thither prone in flight 

He speeds, and through the vast ethereal sky 

Sails between worlds and worlds, with steady wing 

Now on the polar winds ; then with quick fan 

Winnows the buxom air, till, within soar 270 

Of towering eagles, to all the fowls he seems 

A phoenix, gazed by all, as that sole bird, 

When, to enshrine his relics in the Sun's 

Bright temple, to Egyptian Thebes he flies. 

At once on the eastern cliff of Paradise 

He lights, and to his proper shape returns, 

A Seraph winged. Six wings he wore, to shade 

His lineaments divine: the pair that clad 

Each shoulder broad came mantling o'er his breast 

With regal ornament ; the middle pair 280 

Girt like a starry zone his waist, and round 

Skirted his loins and thighs with downy gold 

And colours dipt in heaven ; the third his feet 

Shadowed from either heel with feathered mail, 

Sky-tinctured grain. Like Maia's son he stood, 

And shook his plumes, that heavenly fragrance filled 

The circuit wide. Straight knew him all the bands 

Of Angels under watch, and to his state 

And to his message high in honour rise ; 

For on some message high they guessed him bound. 290 

Their glittering tents he passed, and now is come 

Into the blissful field, through groves of myrrh, 

And flowering odours, cassia, nard, and balm, 

A wilderness of sweets ; for Nature here 

Wantoned as in her prime, and played at will 

Her virgin fancies, pouring forth more sweet, 

Wild above rule or art, enormous bliss. 

Him, through the spicy forest onward come, 

Adam discerned, as in the door he sat 

Of his cool bower, while now the mounted Sun 300 

Shot dov/n direct his fervid rays, to warm 

Earth's inmost w^omb, more warmth than Adam needs , 

And Eve, within, due at her hour, prepared 



Book v.] PARADISE LOST. 131 



For dinner savoury fruits, of taste to please 
True appetite, and not disrelish thirst 
Of nectarous draughts between, from milky stream. 
Berry or grape : to whom thus Adam called : — 

"Haste hither, Eve, and, worth thy sight, behold 
Eastward among those trees what glorious Shape 
Comes this way moving; seems another morn 310 

Risen on mid-noon. Some great behest from Heaven 
To us perhaps he brings, and will vouchsafe 
This day to be our guest. But go with speed. 
And what thy stores contain bring forth, and pour 
Abundance fit to honour and receive 
Our heavenly stranger ; well we may afford 
Our givers their own gifts, and large bestow 
From large bestowed, where Nature multiplies 
Her fertile growth, and by disburdening grows 
More fruitful ; which instructs us not to spare. ''^ 320 

To whom thus Eve: — "Adam, Earth's hallowed mould. 
Of God inspired, small store will serve where store, 
All seasons, ripe for use hangs on the stalk ; 
Save what, by frugal storing, firmness gains 
To nourish, and superfluous moist consumes. 
But I will haste, and from each bough and brake. 
Each plant and juiciest gourd, will pluck such choice 
To entertain our Angel-guest as he. 
Beholding, shall confess that here on Earth 
God hath dispensed his bounties as in Heaven. 330 

So saying, with dispatchful looks in haste 
She turns, on hospitable thoughts intent 
What choice to choose for delicacy best. 
What order so contrived as not to mix 
Tastes, not well joined, inelegant, but bring 
Taste after taste upheld with kindliest change : 
Bestirs her then, and from each tender stalk 
Whatever Earth, all-bearing mother, yields 
In India East or West, or middle shore 

In Pontus or the Punic coast, or where 340 

Alcinous reigned, fruit of all kinds, in coat 
Rough or smooth rined, or bearded husk, or shell, 
She gathers, tribute large, and on the board 
Heaps with unsparing hand. For drink the grape 
She crushes, inoifensive must, and meaths 
From many a berry, and from sweet kernels pressed 
She tempers dulcet creams — nor these to hold 
Wants her fit vessels pure ; then strews the ground 
With rose and odours from the shrub unfumed. 

Meanwhile our primitive great Sire, to meet 350 



32 PARADISE LOST. [Book v. 



His godlike guest, walks forth, without more train 

Accompanied than with his own complete 

Perfections ; in himself was all his state, 

More solemn than the tedious pomp that waits 

On princes, when their rich retinue long 

Of horses led and grooms besmeared with gold 

Dazzles the crowd and sets them all agape. 

Nearer his presence, Adam, though not awed. 

Yet with submiss approach and reverence meek. 

As to a superior nature, bowing low, 360 

Thus said: — "Native of Heaven (for other place 

None can than Heaven such glorious Shape contain). 

Since, by descending from the Thrones above, 

Those happy places thou hast deigned a while 

To want, and honour these, vouchsafe with us, 

Two only, who yet by sovran gift possess 

This spacious ground, in yonder shady bower 

To rest, and what the Garden choicest bears 

To sit and taste, till this meridian heat 

Be over, and the sun more cool decline." 370 

Whom thus the angelic Virtue answered mild : — 
"Adam, I therefore came; nor art thou such 
Created, or such place hast here to dwell, 
As may not oft invite, though Spirits of Heaven, 
To visit thee. Lead on, then, where thy bower 
O'ershades ; for these mid-hours, till evening rise, 
I have at will." So to the sylvan lodge 
They came, that like Pomona's arbour smiled. 
With flowerets decked and fragrant smells. But Eve, 
Undecked, save with herself, more lovely fair 380 

Than wood-nymph, or the fairest goddess feigned 
Of three that in Mount Ida naked strove. 
Stood to entertain her guest from Heaven ; no veil 
She needed, virtue-proof; no thought infirm 
Altered her cheek. On whom the Angel "Hail!" 
Bestowed — the holy salutation used 
Long after to blest Mary, second Eve : — 

"Hail! Mother of mankind, whose fruitful womb 
Shall fill the world more numerous with thy sons 
Than with these various fruits the trees of God 390 

Have heaped this table ! " Raised of grassy turf 
Their table was, and mossy seats had round. 
And on her ample square, from side to side. 
All Autumn piled, though Spring and Autumn here 
Danced hand-in-hand. A while discourse they hold — 
No fear lest dinner cool — when thus began 
Our Author :—" Heavenly Stranger, please to taste 



Book v.] PARADISE LOST. 133 



These bounties, which our Nourisher, from whom 

All perfect good, unmeasured-out, descends, 

To us for food and for delight hath caused 400 

The Earth to yield : unsavoury food, perhaps, 

To Spiritual Natures ; only this I know, 

That one Celestial Father gives to all." 

To whom the Angel: — "Therefore, what he gives 
(Whose praise be ever sung) to Man, in part 
Spiritual, may of purest Spirits be found 
No ingrateful food : and food alike those pure 
Intelligential substances require 
As doth your Rational ; and both contain 

Within them every lower faculty 410 

Of sense, whereby they hear, see, smell, touch, taste, 
Tasting concoct, digest, assimilate. 
And corporeal to incorporeal turn. 
For know, whatever was created needs 
To be sustained and fed. Of Elements 
The grosser feeds the purer : Earth the Sea ; 
Earth and the Sea feed Air ; the Air those Fires 
Ethereal, and, as lowest, first the Moon ; 
Whence in her visage round those spots, unpurged 
Vapours not yet into her substance turned. 420 

Nor doth the Moon no nourishment exhale 
From her moist continent to higher Orbs. 
The Sun, that light imparts to all, receives 
From all his alimental recompense 
In humid exhalations, and at even 
Sups with the Ocean. Though in Heaven the trees 
Of life ambrosial fruitage bear, and vines 
Yield nectar — though from off the boughs each morn 
We brush mellifluous dews and find the ground 
Covered with pearly grain — yet God hath here 430 

Varied his bounty so with new delights 
As may compare with Heaven ; and to taste 
Think not I shall be nice." So down they sat, 
And to their viands fell ; nor seemingly 
The Angel, nor in mist — the common gloss 
Of theologians — but with keen dispatch 
Of real hunger, and concoctive heat 
To transubstantiate : what redounds transpires 
Through Spirits with ease ; nor wonder, if by fire 
Of sooty coal the empiric alchemist 440 

Can turn, or holds it possible to turn, 
Metals of drossiest ore to perfect gold, 
As from the mine. Meanwhile at table Eve 
Ministered naked, and their flowing cups 



134 PARADISE LOST. [Book v. 

With pleasant liquors crowned. O innocence 

Deserving Paradise! If ever, then, 

Then had the Sons of God excuse to have been 

Enamoured at that sight. But in those hearts 

Love unlibidinous reigned, nor jealousy 

Was understood, the injured lover's hell. 450 

Thus when with meats and drinks they had sufficed, 
Not burdened nature, sudden mind arose 
In Adam not to let the occasion pass. 
Given him by this great conference, to know 
Of things above his world, and of their being 
Who dwell in Heaven, whose excellence he saw 
Transcend his own so far, whose radiant forms, 
Divine effulgence, whose high power so far 
Exceeded human ; and his wary speech 
Thus to the empyreal minister he framed : — 460 

*' Inhabitant with God, now know I well 
Thy favour, in this honour done to Man ; 
Under whose lowly roof thou hast vouchsafed 
To enter, and these earthly fruits to taste, 
Food not of Angels, yet accepted so 
As that more willingly thou couldst not seem 
At Heaven's high feasts to have fed: yet what compare!" 

To whom the winged Hierarch replied: — 
"O Adam, one Almighty is, from whom 

All things proceed, and up to him return, 470 

If not depraved from good, created all 
Such to perfection ; one first matter all. 
Endued with various forms, various degrees 
Of substance, and, in things that live, of life ; 
But more refined, more spiritous and pure, 
As nearer to him placed or nearer tending 
Each in their several active spheres assigned. 
Till body up to spirit work, in bounds 
Proportioned to each kind. So from the root 
Springs lighter the green stalk, from thence the leaves 480 

More aery, last the bright consummate flower 
Spirits odorous breathes : flowers and their fruit, 
Man's nourishment, by gradual scale sublimed, 
To vital spirits aspire, to animal. 
To intellectual ; give both life and sense, 
Fancy and understanding; whence the Soul * 
Reason receives, and Reason is her being, 
Discursive, or Intuitive : Discourse 
Is oftest yours, the latter most is ours. 

Differing but in degree, of kind the same. 49° 

Wonder not, then, what God for you saw good 



Book v.] PARADISE LOST. I35 



If I refuse not, but convert, as you, 

To proper substance. Time may come when Men 

With Angels may participate, and find 

No inconvenient diet, nor too light fare ; 

And from these corporal nutriments, perhaps. 

Your bodies may at last turn all to spirit. 

Improved by tract of time, and wing'd ascend 

Ethereal, as we, or may at choice 

Here or in heavenly paradises dwell, 5°° 

If ye be found obedient, and retain 

Unalterably firm his love entire 

Whose progeny you are. Meanwhile enjoy, 

Your fill, what happiness this happy state 

Can comprehend, incapable of more.'' 

To whom the Patriarch of Mankind replied : — 
"O favourable Spirit, propitious guest. 
Well hast thou taught the way that might direct 
Our knowledge, and the scale of Nature set 

From centre to circumference, whereon, 5^° 

In contemplation of created things. 
By steps we may ascend to God. But say. 
What meant that caution joined. If ye be foiind 
Obedient? Can we want obedience, then. 
To him, or possibly his love desert, 
Who formed us from the dust, and placed us here 
Full to the utmost measure of w^iat bliss 
Human desires can seek or apprehend ? " 

To whom the Angel: — "Son of Heaven and Eartli, 
Attend ! That thou art happy, owe to God ; 520 

That thou continuest such, owe to thyself. 
That is, to thy obedience ; therein stand. 
This was that caution given thee ; be advised. 
God made thee perfect, not immutable ; 
And good he made thee ; but to persevere 
He left it in thy power — ordained thy will 
By nature free, not over-mled by fate 
Inextricable, or strict necessity. 
Our voluntary service he requires. 

Not our necessitated. Such with him 530 

Finds no acceptance, nor can find ; for how 
Can hearts not free be tried whether they serve 
Willing or no, who will but what they must 
By destiny, and can no other choose? 
Myself, and all the Angelic Host, that stand 
In sight of God enthroned, our happy state 
Hold, as you yours, while our obedience holds. 
On other surety none : freely we serve. 



136 PARADISE LOST. [Book v. 

Because we freely love, as in our will 

To love or not ; in this we stand or fall. 540 

And some are fallen, to disobedience fallen. 

And so from Heaven to deepest Hell. O fall 

From what high state of bliss into what woe ! " 

To whom our great Progenitor: — "Thy words 
Attentive, and with more delighted ear. 
Divine instructor, I have heard, than when 
Cherubic songs by night from neighbouring hills 
Aerial music send. Nor knew I not 
To be, both will and deed, created free. 

Yet that we never shall forget to love 550 

Our Maker, and obey him whose command 
Single is yet so just, my constant thoughts 
Assured me, and still assure ; though what thou telPst 
Hath passed in Heaven some doubt within me move, 
But more desire to hear, if thou consent, 
The full relation, which must needs be strange, 
Worthy of sacred silence to be heard. 
And we have yet large day, for scarce the Sun 
Hath finished half his journey, and scarce begins 
His other half in the great zone of heaven." 560 

Thus Adam made request ; and Raphael, 
After short pause assenting, thus began : — 

" High matter thou enjoin^'st me, O prime of Men — 
Sad task and hard ; for how shall I relate 
To human sense the invisible exploits 
Of warring Spirits? how, without remorse, 
The ruin of so many, glorious once 
And perfect while they stood.'' how, last, unfold 
The secrets of another world, perhaps 

Not lawful to reveal? Yet for thy good 570 

This is dispensed ; and what surmounts the reach 
Of human sense I shall delineate so, 
By likening spiritual to corporal forms. 
As may express them best — though what if Earth 
Be but the shadow of Heaven, and things therein 
Each to other like more than on Earth is thought ! 

" As yet this World was not, and Chaos wild 
Reigned where these heavens now roll, where Earth now rests 
Upon her centre poised, v/hen on a day 

(For Time, though in Eternity, applied 580 

To motion, measures all things durable 
By present, past, and future), on such day 
As Heaven's great year brings forth, the empyreal host 
Of Angels, by imperial summons called. 
Innumerable before the Almighty's throne 



Book v.] PARADISE LOST. 137 

Forthwith from all the ends of Heaven appeared 

Under their hierarchs in orders bright. 

Ten thousand thousand ensigns high advanced, 

Standards and gonfalons, 'twixt van and rear 

Stream in the air, and for distinction serve 590 

Of hierarchies, of orders, and degrees ; 

Or in their glittering tissues bear emblazed 

Holy memorials, acts of zeal and love 

Recorded eminent. Thus when in orbs 

Of circuit inexpressible they stood. 

Orb within orb, the Father Infinite, 

By whom in bliss embosomed sat the Son, 

'Amidst, as from a flaming mount, whose top 

Brightness had made invisible, thus spake : — 

" ' Hear, all ye Angels, Progeny of Light, 600 

Thrones, Dominations, Princedoms, Virtues, Powers, 
Hear my decree, which unrevoked shall stand! 
This day I have begot whom I declare 
My only Son, and on this holy hill 
Him have anointed, whom ye now behold 
At my right hand. Your head I him appoint. 
And by myself have sworn to him shall bow 
All knees in Heaven, and shall confess him Lord. 
Under his great vicegerent reign abide. 

United as one individual soul, 610 

For ever happy. Him who disobeys 
Me disobeys, breaks union, and, that day. 
Cast out from God and blessed vision, falls 
Into utter darkness, deep engulfed, his place 
Ordained without redemption, without end.'' 

"So spake the Omnipotent, and with his words 
All seemed well pleased ; all seemed, but were not all. 
That day, as other solemn days, they spent 
In song and dance about the sacred hill — 

Mystical dance, which yonder starry sphere 620 

Of planets and of fixed in all her wheels 
Resembles nearest ; mazes intricate. 
Eccentric, intervolved, yet regular 
Then most when most irregular they seem ; 
And in their motions harmony divine 
So smooths her charming tones that God's own ear 
Listens delighted. Evening now approached 
(For we have also our evening and our morn — 
We ours for change delectable, not need). 

Forthwith from dance to sweet repast they turn 630 

Desirous : all in circles as they stood. 
Tables are set, and on a sudden piled 



138 PARADISE LOST. [Book v. 



With Angels' food ; and rubied nectar flows 
In pearl, in diamond, and massy gold. 
Fruit of delicious vines, the growth of Heaven. 
On flowers reposed, and with fresh flowerets crowned. 
They eat, they drink, and in communion sweet 
OuaiT immortality and joy, secure 
Of surfeit where full measure only bounds 

Excess, before the all-bounteous King, who showered 640 

With copious hand, rejoicing in their joy. 
Now when ambrosial Night, with clouds exhaled 
From that high mount of God whence light and shade 
Spring both, the face of brightest Heaven had changed 
To grateful twilight (for Night comes not there 
In darker veil), and roseate dews disposed 
All but the unsleeping eyes of God to rest, 
Wide over all the plain, and wider far 
Than all this globous Earth in plain outspread 
(Such are the courts of God), the Angelic throng, 650 

Dispersed in bands and files, their camp extend 
By living streams among the trees of life — 
Pavilions numberless and sudden reared. 
Celestial tabernacles, where they slept, 
Fanned with cool winds ; save those who, in their course, 
Melodious hymns about the sovran throne 
Alternate all night long. But not so waked 
Satan — so call him now ; his former name 
Is heard no more in Heaven. He, of the first, 
If not the first Archangel, great in power, 660 

In favour, and pre-eminence, yet fraught 
With envy against the Son of God, that day 
Honoured by his great Father, and proclaimed 
Messiah, King Anointed, could not bear. 
Through pride, that sight, and thought himself impaired. 
Deep malice thence conceiving and disdain. 
Soon as midnight brought on the dusky horn- 
Friendliest to sleep and silence, he resolved 
With all his legions to dislodge, and leave 

Unworshiped, unobeyed, the Throne supreme, 670 

Contemptuous, and, his next subordinate 
Awakening, thus to him in secret spake : — 

" ' Sleep'st thou, companion dear? what sleep can close 
Thy eyelids? and rememberest what decree, 
Of yesterday, so late hath passed the lips 
Of Heaven's Almighty? Thou to me thy thoughts 
Wast wont, I mine to thee was wont, to impart ; 
Both waking we were one ; how, then, can now 
Thy sleep dissent ? New laws thou seest imposed ; 



Book v.] PARADISE LOST. 139 

New laws from him who reigns new minds may raise 680 

In us who serve — new counsels, to debate 

What doubtful may ensue. More in this place 

To utter is not safe. Assemble thou 

Of all those myriads which we lead the chief; 

Tell them that, by command, ere yet dim Night 

Her shadowy cloud withdraws, I am to haste, 

And all who under me their banners wave. 

Homeward with flying march where we possess 

The quarters of the North, there to prepare 

Fit entertainment to receive our King, 690 

The great Messiah, and his new commands. 

Who speedily through all the Hierarchies 

Intends to pass triumphant, and give laws.' 

" So spake the false Archangel, and infused 
Bad influence into the unwary breast 
Of his associate. He together calls, 
Or several one by one, the regent Powers, 
Under him regent ; tells, as he was taught. 
That, the Most High commanding, now ere Night, 
Now ere dim Night had disencumbered Heaven, 700 

The great hierarchal standard was to move ; 
Tells the suggested cause, and casts between 
Ambiguous words and jealousies, to sound 
Or taint integrity. But all obeyed 
The wonted signal, and superior voice 
Of their great Potentate ; for great indeed 
His name, and high was his degree in Heaven : 
His countenance, as the morning-star that guides 
The starry flock, allured them, and with lies 

Drew after him the third part of Heaven's host. 710 

Meanwhile, the Eternal Eye, whose sight discerns 
Abstrusest thoughts, from forth his holy mount, 
And from within the golden lamps that burn 
Nightly before him, saw without their light 
Rebellion rising — saw in whom, how spread 
Among the Sons of Morn, what multitudes 
Were banded to oppose his high decree ; 
And, smiling, to his only Son thus said: — 

" * Son, thou in whom my glory I behold 
In full resplendence. Heir of all my might, 720 

Nearly it now concerns us to be sure 
Of our omnipotence, and with what arms 
We mean to hold what anciently we claim 
Of deity or empire : such a foe 
Is rising, who intends to erect his throne 
Equal to ours, throughout the spacious North ; 



I40 PARADISE LOST. [Book v. 



Nor so content, hath in his thought to try 

In battle what our power is or our right. 

Let us advise, and to this hazard draw 

With speed what force is left, and all employ 730 

In our defence, lest unawares we lose 

This our high place, our sanctuary, our hill.' 

"To whom the Son, with calm aspect and clear 
Lightening divine, ineffable, serene, 
Made answer : — ' Mighty Father, thou thy foes 
Justly hast in derision, and secure 
Laugh'st at their vain designs and tumults vain — 
Matter to me of glory, whom they hate 
Illustrates, when they see all regal power 

Given me to quell their pride, and in event 740 

Know whether I be dextrous to subdue 
Thy rebels, or be found the worst in Heaven.' 

"So spake the Son; but Satan with his Powers 
Far was advanced on winged speed, an host 
Innumerable as the stars of night. 
Or stars of morning, dew-drops which the sun 
Impearls on every leaf and every flower. 
Regions they passed, the mighty regencies 
Of Seraphim and Potentates and Thrones 

In their triple degrees — regions to which 750 

All thy dominion, Adam, is no more 
Than what this garden is to all the earth 
And all the sea, from one entire globose 
Stretched into longitude ; which having passed, 
At length into the limits of the North 
They came, and Satan to his royal seat 
High on a hill, far-blazing, as a mount 
Raised on a mount, with pyramids and towers 
From diamond quarries hewn and rocks of gold — 
The palace of great Lucifer (so call 760 

That structure, in the dialect of men 
Interpreted) which, not long after, he, 
Affecting all equality with God, 
In imitation of that mount whereon 
Messiah was declared in sight of Heaven, 
The Mountain of the Congregation called; 
For thither he assembled all his train. 
Pretending so commanded to consult 
About the great reception of their King 

Thither to come, and with calumnious art 'j'jo 

Of counterfeited truth thus held their ears : — 

" 'Thrones, Dominations, Princedoms, Virtues, Powers — 
If these magnific titles yet remain 



Book v.] PARADISE LOST. 141 



Not merely titular, since by decree 

Another now hath to himself engrossed 

All power, and us echpsed under the name 

Of King Anointed ; for whom all this haste 

Of midnight march, and hurried meeting here, 

This only to consult, how we may best, 

With what may be devised of honours new, 780 

Receive him coming to receive from us 

Knee-tribute yet unpaid, prostration vile ! 

Too much to one ! but double how endured — 

To one and to his image now proclaimed? 

But what if better counsels might erect 

Our minds, and teach us to cast off this yoke ! 

Will ye submit your necks, and choose to bend 

The supple knee? Ye will not, if I trust 

To know ye right, or if ye know }'ourselves 

Natives and Sons of Heaven possessed before 790 

By none, and, if not equal all, yet free, 

Equally free ; for orders and degrees 

Jar not with liberty, but well consist. 

Who can in reason, then, or right, assume 

Monarchy over such as live by right 

His equals — if in power and splendour less. 

In freedom equal? or can introduce 

Law and edict on us, who without law 

Err not? much less for this to be our Lord, 

And look for adoration, to the abuse 800 

Of those imperial titles which assert 

Our being ordained to govern, not to serve ! ' 

"Thus far his bold discourse without control 
Had audience, when, among the Seraphim, 
Abdiel, than whom none with more zeal adored 
The Deity, and divine commands obeyed. 
Stood up, and in a flame of zeal severe 
The current of his fury thus opposed : — 

" ' O argument blasphemous, false, and proud — 
Words which no ear ever to hear in heaven 810 

Expected; least of all. from thee, ingrate, 
In place thyself so high above thy peers! 
Canst thou with impious obloquy condemn 
The just decree of God, pronounced and sworn, 
That to his only Son, by right endued 
With regal sceptre, every soul in Heaven 
Shall bend the knee, and in that honour due 
Confess him rightful King? Unjust, thou say'st, 
Flatly unjust, to bind with laws the free. 
And equal over equals to let reign, 820 



[42 PARADISE LOST. [Book v. 



One over all with unsucceeded power! 

Shalt thou give law to God? shalt thou dispute 

With Him the points of liberty, who made 

Thee what thou art, and formed the Powers of Heaven 

Such as he pleased, and circumscribed their being? 

Yet, by experience taught, v;e know how good. 

And of our good and of our dignity 

How provident, he is — how far from thought 

To make us less ; bent rather to exalt 

Our happy state, under one head more near 830 

United. But — to grant it thee unjust 

That equal over equals monarch reign — 

Thyself, though great and glorious, dost thou count, 

Or all angelic nature joined in one. 

Equal to him, begotten Son, by whom, 

As by his Word, the mighty Father made 

All things, even thee, and all the Spirits of Heaven 

By him created in their bright degrees, 

Crowned them with glory, and to their glory named 

Thrones, Dominations, Princedoms, Virtues, Powers? — 840 

Essential Powers ; nor by his reign obscured. 

But more illustrious made ; since he, the head, 

One of our number thus reduced becomes ; 

His laws our laws; all honour to him done 

Returns our own. Cease, then, this impious rage, 

And tempt not these ; but hasten to appease 

The incensed Father and the incensed Son 

While pardon may be found, in time besought.' 

"So spake the fervent Angel; but his zeal 
None seconded, as out of season judged, 850 

Or singular and rash. Whereat rejoiced 
The Apostate, and, more haughty, thus replied : — 

"'That we were formed, then, say'st thou? and the work 
Of secondary hands, by task transferred 
From Father to his Son ? Strange point and new ! 
Doctrine which we would know whence learned ! Who saw 
When this creation was? Remember'st thou 
Thy making, while the Maker gave thee being? 
We know no time when we were not as now; 
Know none before us, self-begot, self-raised 860 

By our own quickening power when fatal course 
Had circled his full orb, the birth mature 
Of this our native Heaven, Ethereal Sons. 
Our puissance is our own ; our own right hand 
Shall teach us highest deeds, by proof to try 
Who is our equal. Then thou shalt behold 
Whether by supplication we intend 



Book v.] PARADISE LOST. 143 

Address, and to begirt the Almighty Throne 

Beseeching or besieging. This report, 

These tidings, carry to the Anointed King; 870 

And fly, ere evil intercept thy flight.' 

"He said; and, as the sound of waters deep, 
Hoarse murmur echoed to his words applause 
Through the infinite host. Nor less for that 
The flaming Seraph, fearless, though alone. 
Encompassed round with foes, thus answered bold: — 

" ' O alienate from God, O Spirit accursed. 
Forsaken of all good! I see thy fall 
Determined, and thy hapless crew involved 

In this perfidious fraud, contagion spread 880 

Both of thy crime and punishment. Henceforth 
No more be troubled how to quit the yoke 
Of God's Messiah. Those indulgent laws 
Will not be now vouchsafed ; other decrees 
Against thee are gone forth without recall ; 
That golden sceptre w^hich thou didst reject 
Is now an iron rod to bruise and break 
Thy disobedience. Well thou didst advise; 
Yet not for thy advice or threats I fly ; 

These wicked tents devoted, lest the wrath 890 

Impendent, raging into sudden flame, 
Distinguish not : for soon expect to feel 
His thunder on thy head, devouring fire. 
Then who created thte lamenting learn 
When who can uncreate thee thou shalt know,' 

"So spake the Seraph Abdiel, faithful found; 
Among the faithless faithful only he ; 
Among innumerable false unmoved, 
Unshaken, unseduced, unterrified, 

His loyalty he kept, his love, his zeal; 900 

Nor number nor example with him wrought 
To swerve from truth, or change his constant mind, 
Though single. From amidst them forth he passed, 
Long way through hostile scorn which he sustained 
Superior, nor of violence feared aught ; 
And with retorted scorn his back he turned 
On those proud towers, to swift destmction doomed." 



THE END OF THE FIFTH BOOK. 



PARADISE LOST. 

BOOK VI. 



THE ARGUMENT. 

Raphael continues to relate how Michael and Gabriel were sent forth to battle against 
Satan and his Angels. The first fight described: Satan and his Powers retire under nighi. 
He calls a council; invents devilish engines, which, in the second day's fight, put Michael 
and his Angels to some disorder; but they at length, pulling up mountains, overwhelmed 
both the force and machines of Satan. Yet, the tumult not so ending, God, on the third day, 
sends Messiah his Son, for whom he had reserved the glory of that victory. He, in the 
power of his Father, coming to the place, and causing all his legions to stand still on either 
side, with his chariot and thunder driving into the midst of his enemies, pursues them, unable 
to resist, towards the wall of Heaven; which opening, they leap down with horror and con- 
fusion into the place of punishment prepared for them in the Deep. Messiah returns with 
triumph to his Father. 



(( 



LL night the dreadless Angel, unpursued, 



A ^ - 

i\ Through Heaven's wide champaign held his way, till Morn, 

Waked by the circling Hours, with rosy hand 

Unbarred the gates of Light. There is a cave 

Within the Mount of God, fast by his throne. 

Where Light and Darkness in perpetual round 

Lodge and dislodge by turns — which makes through Heaven 

Grateful vicissitude, like day and night ; 

Light issues forth, and at the other door 

Obsequious Darkness enters, till her hour - lo 

To veil the heaven, though darkness there might well 

Seem twilight here. And now went forth the Morn 

Such as in highest heaven, arrayed in gold 

Empyreal ; from before her vanished Night, 

Shot through with orient beams ; when all the plain 

Covered with thick embattled squadrons bright, 

Chariots, and flaming arms, and fiery steeds, 

Reflecting blaze on blaze, first met his view. 

War he perceived, war in procinct, and found 

Already known what he for news had thought 20 

To have reported. Gladly then he mixed 

Among those friendly Powers, who him received 

144 



Book VI.] PARADISE LOST. 145 

With joy and acclamations loud, that one, 

That of so many myriads fallen yet one, 

Returned not lost. On to the sacred hill 

They led him, high applauded, and present 

Before the seat supreme ; from whence a voice, 

From midst a golden cloud, thus mild was heard : — 

. " 'Servant of God, well done! Well hast thou fought 

The better fight, who single hast maintained 30 

Against revolted multitudes the cause 

Of truth, in word mightier than they in arms, 

And for the testimony of truth hast borne 

Universal reproach, far worse to bear 

Than violence ; for this was all thy care — 

To stand approved in sight of God, though worlds 

Judged thee perverse. The easier conquest now 

Remains thee — aided by this host of friends. 

Back on thy foes more glorious to return 

Than scorned thou didst depart ; and to subdue 40 

By force who reason for their law refuse — 

Right reason for their law, and for their King 

Messiah, who by right of merit reigns. 

Go, Michael, of celestial armies prince, 

And thou, in military prowess next, 

Gabriel ; lead forth to battle these my sons 

Invincible; lead forth my armed Saints, 

By thousands and by millions ranged for fight, 

Equal in number to that godless crew 

Rebellious. Them with fire and hostile arms 50 

Fearless assault ; and, to the brow of Heaven 

Pursuing, drive them out from God and bliss 

Into their place of punishment, the gulf 

Of Tartaru^y which ready opens wide 

His fiery chaos to receive their fall.' 

"So spake the Sovran Voice; and clouds began 
To darken all the hill, and smoke to roll 
In dusky wreaths reluctant flames, the sign 
Of wrath awaked ; nor with less dread the loud 
Ethereal trumpet from on high gan blow. 60 

At which command the Powers Militant 
That stood for Heaven, in mighty quadrate joined 
Of union irresistible, moved on 
In silence their bright legions to the sound 
Of instrumental harmony, that breathed 
Heroic ardour to adventurous deeds 
Under their godlike leaders, in the cause 
Of God and his Messiah. On they move, 
Indissolubly firm ; nor obvious hill, 



[46 PARADISE LOST. [Book vi. 



Nor straitening vale, nor wood, nor stream, divides 70 

Their perfect ranks ; for high above the ground 

Their march was, and the passive air upbore 

Their nimble tread. As when the total kind 

Of birds, in orderly array on wing, 

Came summoned over Eden to receive 

Their names of thee ; so over many a tract 

Of Heaven they marched, and many a province wide, 

Tenfold the length of this terrene. At last. 

Far in the horizon, to the north, appeared 

From skirt to skirt a fiery region, stretched 80 

In battailous aspect ; and, nearer view. 

Bristled with upright beams innumerable 

Of rigid spears, and helmets thronged, and shields 

Various with boastful argument portrayed, 

The banded Powers of Satan hasting on 

With furious expedition : for they weened 

That self-same day, by fight or by surprise, 

To win the Mount of God, and on his throne 

To set the envier of his state, the proud 

Aspirer. But their thoughts proved fond and vain 90 

In the mid- way ; though strange to us it seemed 

At first that Angel should with Angel war, 

And in fierce hosting meet, who wont to meet 

So oft in festivals of joy and love 

Unanimous, as sons of one great Sire, 

Hymning the Eternal Father. But the shout 

Of battle now began, and rushing sound 

Of onset ended soon each milder thought. 

High in the midst, exalted as a God, 

The Apostate in his sun-bright chariot sat, 1 00 

Idol of majesty divine, enclosed 

With flaming Cherubim and golden shields ; 

Then lighted from his gorgeous throne — for now 

'Twixt host and host but narrow space was left, 

A dreadful interval, and front to front 

Presented stood, in terrible array 

Of hideous length. Before the cloudy van. 

On the rough edge of battle ere it joined, 

Satan, with vast and haughty strides advanced, 

Came towering, armed in adamant and gold. no 

Abdiel that sight endured not, where he stood 

Among the mightiest, bent on highest deeds. 

And, thus his own undaunted heart explores : — 

" 'O Heaven ! that such resemblance of the Highest 
Should yet remain, where faith and realty 
Remain not ! Wherefore should not strength and might 



Book VI.] PARADISE LOST. i^-j 

There fail where virtue fails, or weakest prove 

Where boldest, though to sight unconquerable ? 

His puissance, trusting in the Almighty's aid, 

I mean to try, whose reason I have tried 120 

Unsound and false ; nor is it aught but just 

That he who in debate of truth hath won 

Should win in arms, in both disputes alike 

Victor. Though brutish that contest and foul, 

When reason hath to deal with force, yet so 

Most reason is that reason overcome.' 

" So pondering, and from his armed peers 
Forth-stepping opposite, half-way he met 
His daring foe, at this prevention more 
Incensed, and thus securely him defied: — 130 

"'Proud, art thou met ? Thy hope was to have reached 
The highth of thy aspiring unopposed — 
The throne of God unguarded, and his side 
Abandoned at the terror of thy power 
Or potent tongue. Fool ! not to think how vain 
Against the Omnipotent to rise in arms ; 
Who, out of smallest things, could without end 
Have raised incessant armies to defeat 
Thy folly; or with solitary hand, 

Reaching beyond all limit, at one blow, 140 

Unaided could have finished thee, and whelmed 
Thy legions under darkness ! But thou seest 
All are not of thy train ; there be who faith 
Prefer, and piety to God, though then 
To thee not visible when I alone 
Seemed in thy world erroneous to dissent 
From all : my Sect thou seest ; now learn too late 
How few sometimes may know when thousands err.' 

"Whom the grand Foe, with scornful eye askance, 
Thus answered: — '111 for thee, but in wished hour 150 

Of my revenge, first sought for, thou return'st 
From flight, seditious Angel, to receive 
Thy merited reward, the first assay 
Of this right hand provoked, since first that tongue, 
Inspired with contradiction, durst oppose 
A third part of the Gods, in synod met 
Their deities to assert : who, while they feel 
Vigour divine within them, can allow 
Omnipotence to none. But well thou com'st 

Before thy fellows, ambitious to win 160 

From me some plume, that thy success may show 
Destmction to the rest. This pause between 
(Unanswered lest thou boast) to let thee know. — 



148 PARADISE LOST. [Book vi. 

At first I thought that Liberty and Heaven 

To heavenly souls had been all one ; but now 

I see that most through sloth had rather serve, 

Ministering Spirits, trained up in feast and song : 

Such hast thou armed, the minstrelsy of heaven — 

Servility with freedom to contend. 

As both their deeds compared this day shall prove.' 170 

"To whom, in brief, thus Abdiel stern replied: — 
' Apostate ! still thou err'st, nor end wilt find 
Of erring, from the path of truth remote. 
Unjustly thou deprav'st it with the name 
Of servitude, to serve whom God ordains, 
Or Nature : God and Nature bid the same, 
When he who rules is worthiest, and excels 
Them whom he governs. This is servitude — 
To serve the unwise, or him who hath rebelled 
Against his worthier, as thine now serve thee, 180 

Thyself not free, but to thyself enthralled ; 
Yet lewdly dar'st our ministering upbraid. 
Reign thou in Hell, thy kingdom ; let me serve 
In Heaven God ever blest, and his divine 
Behests obey, worthiest to be obeyed. 
Yet chains in Hell, not realms, expect : meanwhile, 
From me returned, as erst thou saidst, from flight, 
This greeting on thy impious crest receive.' 

" So saying, a noble stroke he lifted high. 
Which hung not, but so swift with tempest fell 190 

On the proud crest of Satan that no sight. 
Nor motion of swift thought, less could his shield, 
Such ruin intercept. Ten paces huge 
He back recoiled ; the tenth on bended knee 
His massy spear upstayed : as if, on earth. 
Winds under ground, or waters forcing way. 
Sidelong had pushed a mountain from his seat. 
Half-sunk with all his pines. Amazement seized 
The rebel Thrones, but greater rage, to see 

Thus foiled their mightiest ; ours joy filled, and shout, 200 

Presage of victory, and fierce desire 
Of battle : whereat Michael bid sound 
The Archangel trumpet. Through the vast of Heaven 
It sounded, and the faithful armies rung 
Hosannah to the Highest ; nor stood at gaze 
The adverse legions, nor less hideous joined 
The horrid shock. Now storming fury rose. 
And clamour such as heard in Heaven till now 
Was never ; arms on armour clashing brayed 
Horrible discord, and the madding wheels 210 



Book VI.] PARADISE LOST. 149 

Of brazen chariots raged ; dire was the noise 

Of conflict ; overhead the dismal hiss 

Of fiery darts in flaming volleys flew, 

And, flying, vaulted either host with fire. 

So under fiery cope together mshed 

Both battles main with ruinous assault 

And inextinguishable rage. All Heaven 

Resounded ; and, had Earth been then, all Earth 

Had to her centre shook. What wonder, when 

Millions of fierce encountering Angels fought 220 

On either side, the least of whom could wield 

These elements, and arm him with the force 

Of all their regions ? How much more of power 

Army against army numberless to raise 

Dreadful combustion warring, and disturb, 

Though not destroy, their happy native seat ; 

Had not the Eternal King Omnipotent 

From his strong hold of Heaven high overruled 

And limited their might, though numbered such 

As each divided legion might have seemed 230 

A numerous host, in strength each armed hand 

A legion! Led in fight, yet leader seemed 

Each warrior single as in chief; expert 

When to advance, or stand, or turn the sway 

Of battle, open when, and when to close 

The ridges of grim war. No thought of flight, 

None of retreat, no unbecoming deed 

That argued fear ; each on himself relied 

As only in his arm the moment lay 

Of victory. Deeds of eternal fame 240 

Were done, but infinite ; for wide was spread 

That war, and various : sometimes on firm ground 

A standing fight ; then, soaring on main wing, 

Tormented all the air ; all air seemed then 

Conflicting fire. Long time in even scale 

The battle hung ; till Satan, who that day 

Prodigious power had shown, and met in arms 

No equal, ranging through the dire attack 

Of fighting Seraphim confused, at length 

Saw where the sword of Michael smote, and felled 250 

Squadrons at once : with huge two-handed sway 

Brandished aloft, the horrid edge came down 

Wide-wasting. Such destruction to withstand 

He hasted, and opposed the rocky orb 

Of tenfold adamant, his ample shield, 

A vast circumference. At his approach 

The great Archangel from his warlike toil 



150 PARADISE LOST. [Book vi. 

Surceased, and, glad, as hoping here to end 
Intestine war in Heaven, the Arch-foe subdued. 
Or captive dragged in chains, with hostile frown 260 

And visage all inflamed, first thus began : — 
>«Ji*,' Author of Evil, unknown till thy revolt, 
/Unnamed in Heaven, now plenteous as thou seest 
These acts of hateful strife — hateful to all. 
Though heaviest, by just measure, on thyself 
And thy adherents — how hast thou disturbed 
Heaven's blessed peace, and into Nature brought 
Misery, uncreated till the crime 
Of thy rebellion! how hast thou instilled 

Thy malice into thousands, once upright 270 

And faithful, now proved false! But think not here 
To trouble holy rest ; Heaven casts thee out 
From all her confines ; Heaven, the seat of bliss, 
Brooks not the works of violence and war. 
Hence, then, and Evil go with thee along. 
Thy offspring, to the place of Evil, Hell — 
Thou and thy wicked crew ! there mingle broils! 
Ere this avenging sword begin thy doom, 
Or some more sudden vengeance, winged from God, 
Precipitate thee with augmented pain/ 280 

" So spake the Prince of Angels ; to whom thus 
The Adversary : — ' Nor think thou with wind 
Of airy threats to awe whom yet with deeds 
Thou canst not. Hast thou turned the least of these 
To flight — or, if to fall, but that they rise 
Unvanquished — easier to transact with me 
That thou shouldst hope, imperious, and with threats 
To chase me hence? Err not that so shall end 
The strife which thou calPst evil, but we style 
The strife of glory ; which we mean to win, 290 

Or turn this Heaven itself into the Hell 
Thou fablest ; here, however, to dwell free, 
If not to reign. Meanwhile, thy utmost force — 
And join him named Almighty to thy aid — 
I fly not, but have sought thee far and nigh.'' 

" They ended parle, and both addressed for fight 
Unspeakable ; for who, though with the tongue 
Of Angels, can relate, or to what things 
Liken on Earth conspicuous, that may lift 

Human imagination to such highth 300 

Of godlike power? for likest gods they seemed, 
Stood they or moved, in stature, motion, arms, 
Fit to decide the empire of great Heaven. 
Now waved their fiery swords, and in the air 



Book VI.] PARADISE LOST. 151 

Made horrid circles; two broad suns their shields 
Blazed opposite, while Expectation stood 
In horror; from each hand with speed retired, 
Where erst was thickest fight, the Angelic throng, 
- And left large field, unsafe within the wind 

Of such commotion: such as (to set forth 310 

Great things by small) if, Nature's concord broke. 

Among the constellations war were sprung, 

Two planets, mshing from aspect malign 

Of fiercest opposition, in mid sky 

Should combat, and their jarring spheres confound. 

Together both, with next to almighty arm 

Uplifted imminent, one stroke they aimed 

That might determine, and not need repeat 

As not of power, at once ; nor odds appeared 

In might or swift prevention. But the sword 320 

Of Michael from the armoury of God 

Was given him tempered so that neither keen 

Nor solid might resist that edge : it met 

The sword of Satan, with steep force to smite 

Descending, and in half cut sheer ; nor stayed, 

But, with swift wheel reverse, deep entering, shared 

All his right side. Then Satan first knew pain, 

And writhed him to and fro convolved ; so sore 

The griding sword with discontinuous wound 

Passed through him. But the ethereal substance closed, 330 

Not long divisible ; and from the gash 

A stream of nectarous humour issuing flowed 

Sanguine, such as celestial Spirits may bleed. 

And all his armour stained, erewhile so bright. 

Forthwith, on all sides, to his aid was run 

By Angels many and strong, wiio interposed 

Defence, w-hile others bore him on their shields 

Back to his chariot where it stood retired 

From off the files of war : there they him laid 

Gnashing for anguish, and despite, and shame 340 

To find "himself not matchless, and his pride 

Humbled by such rebuke, so far beneath 

His confidence to equal God in power. 

Yet soon he healed; for Spirits, that live throughout 

Vital in every part — not, as frail Man, 

In entrails, heart or head, liver or reins — 

Cannot but by annihilating die ; 

Nor in their liquid texture mortal wound 

Receive, no more than can the fluid air: 

All heart they live, all head, all eye, all ear, 350 

All intellect, all sense ; and as they please 



52 PARADISE LOST. [Book vi. 



They limb themselves, and colour, shape, or size 
Assume, as likes them best, condense or rare. 

"Meanwhile, in other parts, like deeds deserved 
Memorial, where the might of Gabriel fought. 
And with fierce ensigns pierced the deep array 
Of Moloch, furious king, who him defied. 
And at his chariot-wheels to drag him bound 
Threatened, nor from the Holy One of Heaven 
Refrained his tongue blasphemous, but anon, 360 

Down cloven to the waist, with shattered arms 
And uncouth pain fled bellowing. On each wing 
Uriel and Raphael his vaunting foe, 
Though huge and in a rock of diamond armed, 
Vanquished — Adramelech and Asmadai, 
Two potent Thrones, that to be less than Gods 
Disdained, but meaner thoughts learned in their fliglit, 
Mangled with ghastly wounds through plate and mail. 
Nor stood unmindful Abdiel to annoy 

The atheist crew, but with redoubled blow 370 

Ariel, and Arioch, and the violence 
Of Ramiel, scorched and blasted, overthrew. 
I might relate of thousands, and their names 
Eternize here on Earth ; but those elect 
Angels, contented with their fame in Heaven, 
Seek not the praise of men : the other sort. 
In might though wondrous and in acts of war, 
Nor of renown less eager, yet by doom 
Cancelled from Heaven and sacred memory, 

Nameless in dark oblivion let them dwell 380 

For strength from truth divided, and from just, 
lUaudable, naught merits but dispraise 
And ignominy, yet to glory aspires. 
Vain-glorious, and through infamy seeks fame : 
Therefore eternal silence be their doom ! 

"And now, their mightiest quelled, the battle swerved, 
With many an inroad gored ; deformed rout 
Entered, and foul disorder ; all the ground 
With shivered armour strown, and on a heap 

Chariot and charioteer lay overturned, 390 

And fiery foaming steeds ; what stood recoiled, 
O'er-wearied, through the faint Satanic host. 
Defensive scarce, or with pale fear surprised — 
Then first with fear surprised and sense of pain — 
Fled ignominious, to such evil brought 
By sin of disobedience, till that hour 
Not liable to fear, or flight, or pain. 
Far otherwise the inviolable Saints 



Book VI.] PARADISE LOST. 153 

In cubic phalanx firm advanced entire, 

Invulnerable, impenetrably armed ; 400 

Such high advantages their innocence 

Gave them above their foes — not to have sinned, 

Not to have disobeyed; in fight they stood 

Unwearied, unobnoxious to be pained 

By wound, though from their place by violence moved. 

" Now Night her course began, and, over Heaven 
Inducing darkness, grateful truce imposed. 
And silence on the odious din of war. 
Under her cloudy covert both retired, 

Victor and vanquished. On the foughten field 410 

Michael and his Angels, prevalent 
Encamping, placed in guard their watches round, 
Cherubic waving fires : on the other part, 
Satan with his rebellious disappeared. 
Far in the dark dislodged, and, void of rest, 
His potentates to council called by night, 
And in the midst thus undismayed began : — 

" ' O now in danger tried, now known in arms 
Not to be overpowered, companions dear, 

Found worthy not of liberty alone — 420 

Too mean pretence — but, what we more affect, 
Honour, dominion, glory, and renown ; 
Who have sustained one day in doubtful fight 
(And, if one day, why not eternal days?) 
What Heaven's Lord had powerfullest to send 
Against us from about his throne, and judged 
Sufficient to subdue us to his will, 
But proves not so : then fallible, it seems, 
Of future we may deem him, though till now 

Omniscient thought ! True is, less firmly armed, 430 

Some disadvantage we endured, and pain — 
Till now not known, but, known, as soon contemned ; 
Since now we find this our empyreal form 
Incapable of mortal injury, 
Imperishable, and, though pierced with wound, 
Soon closing, and by native vigour healed. 
Of evil, then, so small as easy think 
The remedy : perhaps more valid arms, 
Weapons more violent, when next we meet, 

May serve to better us and worse our foes, 440 

Or equal what between us made the odds. 
In nature none. If other hidden cause 
Left them superior, while we can preserve 
Unhurt our minds, and understanding sound, 
Due search and consultation will disclose.' 



154 PARADISE LOST. [Book vi. 

" He sat ; and in the assembly next iipstood 
Nisroch, of Principalities the prime. 
As one he stood escaped from cruel fight 
Sore toiled, his riven arms to havoc hewn, 
And, cloudy in aspect, thus answering spake: — 450 

" ' Deliverer from new Lords, leader to free 
Enjoyment of our right as Gods ! yet hard 
For Gods, and too unequal work, we find 
Against unequal arms to fight in pain, 
Against unpained, impassive ; from which evil 
Ruin must needs ensue. For what avails 
Valour or strength, though matchless, quelled with pain, 
Which all subdues, and makes remiss the hands 
Of mightiest? Sense of pleasure we may well 
Spare out of life perhaps, and not repine, 460 

But live content — which is the calmest life; 
But pain is perfect misery, the worst 
Of evils, and, excessive, overturns 
All patience. He who, therefore, can invent 
With what more forcible we may offend 
Our yet unwounded enemies, or arm 
Ourselves with like defence, to me deserves 
No less than for deliverance what we owe.'' 

" Whereto, with look composed, Satan replied : — 
' Not uninvented that, which thou aright 470 

Believ'st so main to our success, I bring. 
Which of us who beholds the bright surface 
Of this ethereous mould whereon we stand — 
This continent of spacious Heaven, adorned 
With plant, fruit, flower ambrosial, gems and gold — 
Whose eye so superficially surveys 
These things as not to mind from whence they grow 
Deep under ground : materials dark and crude, 
Of spiritous and fiery spume, till, touched 

With Heaven's ray, and tempered, they shoot forth 480 

So beauteous, opening to the ambient light? 
These in their dark nativity the Deep 
Shall yield us, pregnant with infernal flame ; 
Which, into hollow engines long and round 
Thick-rammed, at the other bore with touch of fire 
Dilated and infuriate, shall send forth 
From far, with thundering noise, among our foes 
Such implements of mischief as shall dash 
To pieces and overwhelm whatever stands 

Adverse, that they shall fear we have disarmed 490 

The Thunderer of his only dreaded bolt. 
Nor long shall be our labour ; yet ere dawn 



Book VI.] PARADISE LOST. 155 

Effect shall end our wish. Meanwhile revive; 
Abandon fear; to strength and counsel joined 
Think nothing hard, much less to be despaired.' 

" He ended ; and his words their drooping cheer 
Enlightened, and their languished hope revived. 
The invention all admired, and each how he 
To be the inventor missed ; so easy it seemed 
Once found, which yet unfound most would have thought 500 ', 

Impossible ! Yet, haply, of thy race. 
In future days, if malice should abound. 
Some one, intent on mischief, or inspired 
With devilish machination, might devise 
Like instrument to plague the sons of men 
For sin, on war and mutual slaughter bent. 
Forthwith from council to the work they flew; 
None arguing stood ; innumerable hands 
Were ready ; in a moment up they turned 

Wide the celestial soil, and saw beneath 510 

The originals of Nature in their crude 
Conception ; sulphurous and nitrous foam 
They found, they mingled, and, with subtle art 
Concocted and adusted, they reduced 

To blackest grain, and into store conveyed. '^ 

Part hidden veins digged up (nor hath this Earth 
Entrails unlike) of mineral and stone. 
Whereof to found their engines and their balls 
Of missive ruin ; part incentive reed 

Provide, pernicious with one touch to fire. 520 

So all ere day-spring, under conscious Night, 
Secret they finished, and in order set, 
With silent circumspection, unespied. 

'' Now, when fair Morn orient in Heaven appeared, 
Up rose the victor Angels, and to arms 
The matin trumpet sung. In arms they stood 
Of golden panoply, refulgent host. 
Soon banded ; others from the dawning hills 
Looked round, and scouts each coast light-armed scour, 
Each quarter, to descry the distant foe, 530 

Where lodged, or whither fled, or if for fight. 
In motion or in halt. Him soon they met 
Under spread ensigns moving nigh, in slow 
But firm battalion : back with speediest sail 
Zophiel, of Cherubim the swiftest wing. 
Came flying, and in mid air aloud thus cried : — 

" '■ Arm, \Varriors, arm for fight ! The foe at hand, 
Whom fled we thought, will save us long pursuit 
This day ; fear not his flight ; so thick a cloud 



156 PARADISE LOST. [Book vi. 



He comes, and settled in his face I see 540 

Sad resolution and secure. Let each 

His adamantine coat gird well, and each 

Fit well his helm, gripe fast his orbed shield, 

Borne even or high ; for this day will pour down, 

If I conjecture aught, no drizzling shower. 

But rattling storm of arrows barbed with fire.' 

" So warned he them, aware themselves, and soon 
In order, quit of all impediment. 
Instant, without disturb, they took alarm, 

And onward move embattled: when, behold, 550 

Not distant far, with heavy pace the foe 
Approaching gross and huge, in hollow cube 
Training his devilish enginery, impaled 
On every side with shadowing squadrons deep, 
To hide the fraud. At interview both stood 
A while ; but suddenly at head appeared 
Satan, and thus was heard commanding loud : — 

" ' Vanguard, to right and left the front unfold, 
That all may see who hate us how we seek 

Peace and composure, and with open breast 560 

Stand ready to receive them, if they like 
Our overture, and turn not back perverse : 
But that I doubt. However, witness Heaven! 
Heaven, witness thou anon! while we discharge 
Freely our part. Ye, who appointed stand. 
Do as you have in charge, and briefly touch 
What we propound, and loud that all may hear.' 

" So scoffing in ambiguous words, he scarce 
Had ended, when to right and left the front 

Divided, and to either flank retired ; 570 

Which to our eyes discovered, new and strange, 
A triple mounted row of pillars laid 
On wheels (for like to pillars most they seemed, 
Or hollowed bodies made of oak or fir. 
With branches lopt, in wood or mountain felled), 
Brass, iron, stony mould, had not their mouths 
With hideous orifice gaped on us wide, 
Portending hollow truce. At each, behind, 
A Seraph stood, and in his hand a reed 

Stood waving tipt with fire ; while we, suspense, 580 

Collected stood within our thoughts amused. 
Not long! for sudden all at once their reeds 
Put forth, and to a narrow vent applied 
With nicest touch. Immediate in a flame. 
But soon obscured with smoke, all Heaven appeared. 
From those deep-throated engines belched, whose roar 



Book VI.] PARADISE LOST. 157 

Embowelled with outrageous noise the air, 

And all her entrails tore, disgorging foul 

Their devilish glut, chained thunderbolts and hail 

Of iron globes ; which, on the victor host 590 

Levelled, with such impetuous fury smote, 

That whom they hit none on their feet might stand, 

Though standing else as rocks, but down they fell 

By thousands. Angel on Archangel rolled, 

The sooner for their arms. Unarmed, they might 

Have easily, as Spirits, evaded swift 

By quick contraction or remove ; but now 

Foul dissipation followed, and forced rout; 

Nor served it to relax their serried files. 

What should they do? If on they rushed, repulse 600 

Repeated, and indecent overthrow 

Doubled, would render them yet more despised. 

And to their foes a laughter — for in view 

Stood ranked of Seraphim another row. 

In posture to displode their second tire 

Of thunder ; back defeated to return 

They worse abhorred. Satan beheld their plight, 

And to his mates thus in derision called : — 

" ' O friends, why come not on these victors proud ? 
Erewhile they fierce were coming; and, when we, 610 

To entertain them fair with open front 
And breast (what could we more?), propounded terms 
Of composition, straight they changed their minds, 
Flew off, and into strange vagaries fell. 
As they would dance. Yet for a dance they seemed 
Somewhat extravagant and wild ; perhaps 
For joy of offered peace. But I suppose. 
If our proposals once again were heard. 
We should compel them to a quick result.' 

" To whom thus Belial, in like gamesome mood : — 620 

' Leader, the terms we sent were terms of weight, 
Of hard contents, and full of force urged home, 
Such as we might perceive amused them all. 
And stumbled many. Who receives them right 
Had need from head to foot well understand ; 
Not understood, this gift they have besides — 
They show us when our foes walk not upright.' 

"So they among themselves in pleasant vein 
Stood scoffing, highthened in their thoughts beyond 
All doubt of victory ; Eternal Might 630 

To match with their inventions they presumed 
So. easy, and of his thunder made a scorn, 
And all his host derided, whi'e they stood 



158 PARADISE LOST. [Book vi. 

A while in trouble. But they stood not long ; 
Rage prompted them at length, and found them arms 
Against such hellish mischief fit to oppose. 
Forthwith (behold the excellence, the power, 
Which God hath in his mighty Angels placed!) 
Their arms away they threw, and to the hills 

(For Earth hath this variety from Heaven 640 

Of pleasure situate in hill and dale) 
Light as the lightning-glimpse they ran, they flew ; 
From their foundations, loosening to and fro, 
- They plucked the seated hills, with all their load, 
Rocks, waters, woods, and, by the shaggy tops 
Uplifting, bore tl>em in their hands. Amaze, 
Be sure, and terror, seized the rebel host. 
When coming towards them so dread they saw 
The bottom of the mountains upward turned, 

Till on those cursed engines' triple row 650 

They saw them whelmed, and all their confidence 
Under the weight of mountains buried deep ; 
Themselves invaded next, and on their heads 
Main promontories flung, which in the air 
Came shadowing, and oppressed whole legions armed. 
Their armour helped their harm, crushed in and bruised, 
Into their substance pent — which wrought them pain 
Implacable, and many a dolorous groan, 
Long struggling underneath, ere they could wind 
Out of such prison, though Spirits of purest light, 660 

Purest at first, now gross by sinning grown. 
The rest, in imitation, to like arms 
Betook them, and the neighbouring hills uptore ; 
So hills amid the air encountered hills. 
Hurled to and fro with jacuiation dire, 
That underground they fought in dismal shade : 
Infernal noise! war seemed a civil game 
To this uproar; horrid confusion heaped 
Upon confusion rose. And now all Heaven 

Had gone to wrack, with ruin overspread, • 670 

Had not the Almighty Father, where he sits 
Shrined in his sanctuary of Heaven secure, 
Consulting on the sum of things, foreseen 
This tumult, and permitted all, advised, 
That his great purpose he might so fulfil, 
To honour his Anointed Son, avenged 
Upon his enemies, and to declare 
All power on him transferred. Whence to his Son, 
The assessor of his throne, he thus began : — 

" ' Effulgence of my glory, Son beloved, 680 



Book VI.] PARADISE LOST. 159 



Son in whose face invis&le is beheld 

Visibly, what by Deity I am, 

And in whose hand what by decree I do, 

Second Omnipotence ! two days are passed, 

Two days, as we compute the days of Heaven, 

Since Michael and his Powers went forth to tame 

These disobedient. Sore hath been their fight, 

As likeliest was when two such foes met armed : 

For to themselves I left them ; and thou know'st 

Equal in their creation they were formed, 690 

Save what sin hath impaired — which yet hath wrought 

Insensibly, for I suspend their doom : 

Whence in perpetual fight they needs must last 

Endless, and no solution will be found. 

War wearied hath performed what war can do. 

And to disordered rage let loose the reins. 

With mountains, as with weapons, armed; which makes 

Wild work in Heaven, and dangerous to the main. 

Two days are, therefore, passed ; the third is thine : 

For thee I have ordained it, and thus far 700 

Have suffered, that the glory may be thine 

Of ending this great war, since none but thou 

Can end it. Into thee such virtue and grace 

Immense I have transfused, that all may know 

In Heaven and Hell thy power above compare, 

And this perverse commotion governed thus, 

To manifest thee worthiest to be Heir 

Of all things — to be Heir, and to be King 

By sacred unction, thy deserved right. 

Go, then, thou Mightiest, in thy Father's might; 710 

Ascend my chariot ; guide the rapid wheels 

That shake Heaven's basis; bring forth all my war; 

My bow and thunder, my almighty arms. 

Gird on, and sword upon thy puissant thigh ; 

Pursue these Sons of Darkness, drive them out 

From all Heaven's bounds into the utter Deep; 

There let them learn, as likes them, to despise 

God, and Messiah his anointed King.' 

"He said, and on his Son with rays direct 
Shone full. He all his Father full expressed 720 

Ineffably into his face received; 
And thus the Filial Godhead answering spake : — 

" ' O Father, O Supreme of Heavenly Thrones, 
First, Highest, Holiest, Best, thou always seek'st 
To glorify thy Son ; I always thee. 
As is most just. This I my glory account, 
My exaltation, and my whole delight, 



r 



i6o PARADISE LOST. [Book vi. 



That thou in me, well pleased, declar'st thy will 

Fulfilled, which to fulfil is all my bliss. 

Sceptre and power, thy giving, I assume, 730 

And gladlier shall resign when in the end 

Thou shalt be all in all, and I in thee 

For ever, and in me all whom thou lov'st. 

But whom thou hat^st I hate, and can put on 

Thy terrors, as I put thy mildness on. 

Image of thee in all things: and shall soon, 

Armed with thy might, rid Heaven of these rebelled, 

To their prepared ill mansion driven down. 

To chains of darkness and the undying worm, 

That from thy just obedience could revolt, 746 

Whom to obey is happiness entire. 

Then shall thy Saints, unmixed, and from the impure 

Far separate, circling thy holy Mount, 

Unfeigned halleluiahs to thee sing. 

Hymns of high praise, and I among them chief.' 

"So said, he, o'er his sceptre bowing, rose 
From the right hand of Glory where he sat ; 
And the third sacred morn began to shine, 
Dawning through Heaven. Forth rushed with whirlwind 

sound 
The chariot of Paternal Deity, 750 

Flashing thick flames, wheel within wheel ; undrawn. 
Itself instinct with spirit, but convoyed 
By four cherubic Shapes. Four faces each 
Had wondrous ; as with stars, their bodies all 
And wings were set with eyes ; with eyes the wheels 
Of beryl, and careering fires between ; 
Over their heads a crystal firmament. 
Whereon a sapphire throne, inlaid with pure 
Amber and colours of the showery arch. 

He, in celestial jxmoply all armed 760 

Of radiant Urim, work divinely wrought. 
Ascended; at his right hand Victory 
Sat eagle-winged ; beside him hung his bow. 
And quiver, with three-bolted thunder stored ; 
And from about him fierce effusion rolled 
Of smoke and bickering flame and sparkles dire. 
Attended with ten thousand thousand Saints, 
He onward came ; far off his coming shone ; 
And twenty thousand (I their number heard) 

Chariots of God, half on each hand, were seen. 770 

He on the wings of Cherub rode sublime 
On the crystalline sky, in sapphire throned — 
Illustrious far and wide, but by his own 



Book vi.] PARADISE LOST. i6i 

First seen. Them unexpected joy surprised 

When the great ensign of Messiah blazed 

Aloft, by Angels borne, his sign in Heaven ; 

Under whose conduct Michael soon reduced 

His army, circumfused on either wing. 

Under their Head embodied all in one. 

liefore him Power Divine his way prepared ; 780 

At his command the uprooted hills retired 

Each to his place ; they heard his voice, and went 

Obsequious ; Heaven his wonted face renewed, 

And with fresh flowerets hill and valley smiled. 

" This saw his hapless foes, but stood obdured, 
And to rebellious fight rallied their Powers, 
Insensate, hope conceiving from despair. 
In Heavenly Spirits could such perverseness dwell? 
But to convince the proud what signs avail, 

Or wonders move the obdurate to relent? 790 

They, hardened more by what might niost reclaim, 
Grieving to see his glory, at the sight 
Took envy, and, aspiring to his highth. 
Stood re-embattled fierce, by force or fraud 
Weening to prosper, and at length prevail 
Against God and Messiah, or to fall 
In universal ruin last ; and now 
To final battle drew, disdaining flight, 
Or faint retreat : when the great Son of God 
To all his host on either hand thus spake : — 800 

^' '- Stand still in bright array, ye Saints ; here stand, 
Ye Angels armed ; this day from battle rest. 
Faithful hath been your warfare, and of God 
Accepted, fearless in his righteous cause ; 
And, as ye have received, so have ye done, 
Invincibly. But of this cursed crew 
The punishment to other hand belongs ; 
Vengeance is his, or whose he sole appoints. 
Number to this day's work is not ordained, 

Nor multitude; stand only and behold 810 

God's indignation on these godless poured 
By me. Not you, but me, they have despised, 
Yet envied ; against me is all their rage. 
Because the Father, to whom in Heaven supreme 
Kingdom and power and glory appertains, 
Hatli honoured me, according to his will. 
Therefore to me their doom he hath assigned. 
That they may have their wish, to try with me 
In battle which the stronger proves — they all, 
Or I alone against them ; since by strength 820 

They measure all, of other excellence 



1 62 PARADISE LOST. [Book vi. 



Not emulous, nor care who them excels ; 
Nor other strife with them do I vouchsafe.' 

" So spake the Son, and into terror changed 
His countenance, too severe to be beheld, 
And full of wrath bent on his enemies. 
At once the Four spread out their starry wings 
With dreadful shade contiguous, and the orbs 
Of his fierce chariot rolled, as with the sound 
Of torrent floods, or of a numerous host. 830 

He on his impious foes right onward drove. 
Gloomy as Night. Under his burning wheels 
The steadfast Empyrean shook throughout. 
All but the throne itself of God. Full soon 
Among them he arrived, in his right hand 
Grasping ten thousand thunders, which he sent 
Before him, such as in their souls infixed 
Plagues. They, astonished, all resistance lost. 
All courage ; down their idle weapons dropt ; 

O'er shields, and helms, and helmed heads he rode 840 

Of Thrones and mighty Seraphim prostrate, 
That wished the mountains now might be again 
Thrown on them, as a shelter from his ire. 
Nor less on either side tempestuous fell 
His arrows, from the fourfold-visaged Four, 
Distinct with eyes, and from the living wheels, 
Distinct alike with multitude of eyes ; 
One spirit in them ruled, and every eye 
Glared lightning, and shot forth pernicious fire 
Among the accursed, that withered all their strength, 850 

And of their wonted vigour left them drained, 
Exhausted, spiritless, afflicted, fallen. 
Yet half his strength he put not forth, but checked 
His thunder in mid-volley ; for he meant 
Not to destroy, but root them out of Heaven. 
The overthrown he raised, and, as a herd 
Of goats or timorous flock together thronged, 
Drove them before him thunderstruck, pursued 
With terrors and with furies to the bounds 

And crystal wall of Heaven ; which, opening wide, 860 

Rolled inward, and a spacious gap disclosed 
Into the wasteful Deep. The monstrous sight 
Strook them with horror backward ; but far worse 
Urged them behind : headlong themselves they threw 
Down from the verge of Heaven : eternal wrath 
Burnt after them to the bottomless pit. 

" Hell heard the unsuff'erable noise ; Hell saw 
Heaven ruining from Heaven, and would have fled 
Aff'righted; but strict Fate had cast too deep 



Book VI.] PARADISE LOST. 163 | 

Her dark foundations, and too fast had bound. 870 

Nine days they fell ; confounded Chaos roared, s 

And felt tenfold confusion in their fall I 

Through his wild Anarchy ; so huge a rout I 

Encumbered him with ruin. Hell at last, | 

Yawning, received them whole, and on them closed — | 

Hell, their fit habitation, fraught with fire I 

Unquenchable, the house of woe and pain. I 

Disburdened Heaven rejoiced, and soon repaired ' 

Her mural breach, returning whence it rolled. * \ 

Sole victor, from the expulsion of his foes 880 

Messiah his triumphal chariot turned. 

To meet him all his Saints, who silent stood 

Eye-witnesses of his almighty acts, 

With jubilee advanced ; and, as they went, 

Shaded with branching palm, each order bright 

Sung triumph, and him sung victorious King, 

Son, Heir, and Lord, to him dominion given, 

Worthiest to reign. He celebrated rode. 

Triumphant through mid Heaven, into the courts 

And temple of his mighty Father throned 890 

On high ; who into glory him received, 

Where now he sits at the right hand of bliss. 

" Thus, measuring things in Heaven by things on Earth, 
At thy request, and that thou may'st beware 
By what is past, to thee I have revealed 
What might have else to human race been hid — 
The discord which befell, and war in Heaven 
Among the Angelic Powers, and the deep fall 
Of those too high aspiring who rebelled 

With Satan : he who envies now thy state, 900 

Who now is plotting how he may seduce 
Thee also from obedience, that, with him 
Bereaved of happiness, thou may^st partake 
His punishment, eternal misery ; 
Which would be all his solace and revenge. 
As a despite done against the Pvlost High, 
Thee once to gain companion of his woe. 
But listen not to his temptations ; warn 
Thy weaker; let it profit thee to have heard. 

By terrible example, the reward 910 

Of disobedience. Firm they might have stood, 
Yet fell. Remember, and fear to transgress." 



THE END OF THE SIXTH BOOK. 



* PARADISE LOST. 



BOOK VII. 



THE ARGUMENT. 



Raphael, at the request of Adam, relates how and wherefore this World was first created: 
— that God, after the expelling of Satan and his Angels out of Heaven, declared his pleasure 
to create another World, and other creatures to dwell therein; sends his Son with glory, and 
attendance of Angels, to perform the work of creation in six days: the Angels celebrate with 
hymns the performance thereof, and his reascension into Heaven. 

DESCEND from Heaven, Urania, by that name 
If rightly thou art called, whose voice divine 
Following, above the Olympian hill I soar, 
Above the flight of Pegasean wing ! 
The meaning, not the name, I call ; for thou 
Nor of the Muses nine, nor on the top 
Of old Olympus dwelPst ; but, heavenly-born, 
Before the hills appeared or fountain flowed, 
Thou .with Eternal Wisdom didst converse. 

Wisdom thy sister, and with her didst play lo 

In presence of the Almighty Father, pleased 
With thy celestial song. Up led by thee, 
Into the Heaven of Heavens I have presumed, 
An earthly guest, and drawn empyreal air, 
Thy tempering. With like safety guided down, 
Return me to my native element ; 
Lest, from this flying steed unreined (as once 
Bellerophon, though from a lower clime) 
Dismounted, on the Aleian field I fall. 

Erroneous there to wander and forlorn. 20 

Half yet remains unsung, but narrower bound 
Within the visible Diurnal Sphere. 
Standing on Earth, not rapt above the pole. 
More safe I sing with mortal voice, unchanged 
To hoarse or mute, though fallen on evil days, 

164 



Book VII.] PARADISE LOST. 165 

On evil da3's though fellen, and evil tongues, 

In darkness, and with dangers compassed round, 

And solitude ; yet not alone, while thou 

Visit'st my slumbers nightly, or when Morn 

Purples the East. Still govern thou my song, 30 

Urania, and fit audience rind, though few. 

But drive far off the barbarous dissonance 

Of Bacchus and his revellers, the race 

Of that wild rout that tore the Thracian bard 

In Rhodope, where w^oods and rocks had ears 

To rapture, till the savage clamour drowned 

Both harp and voice ; nor could the Muse defend 

Her son. So fail not thou who thee implores ; 

For thou art heavenly, she an empty dream. 

Say, Goddess, what ensued when Raj)hael, 40 

The affable Archangel, had forewarned 
Adam, by dire example, to bew-are 
Apostasy, by what befell in Heaven 
To those apostates, lest the like befall 
In Paradise to Adam or his race. 
Charged not to touch the interdicted Tree, 
If they transgress, and slight that sole command, 
So easily obeyed amid the choice 
Of all tastes else to please their appetite. 

Though wandering. He, with his consorted Eve, 50 

The story heard attentive, and was filled 
With admiration and deep muse, to hear 
Of things so high and strange — things to their thought 
So unimaginable as hate in Heaven, 
And w^ar so near the peace of God in bliss. 
With such confusion ; but the evil, soon 
Driven back, redounded as a flood on those 
From whom it sprung, impossible to mix 
With bftssedness. Whence Adam soon repealed 
The doubts that in his heart arose ; and, now 60 

Led on, yet sinless, with desire to know 
W^hat nearer might concern him — how this World 
Of heaven and earth conspicuous first began ; 
When, and whereof, created ; for wliat cause ; 
What within Eden, or without, was done 
Before his memory — as one whose drouth. 
Yet scarce allayed, still eyes the current stream, 
Whose liquid murmur heard new thirst excites, 
Proceeded thus to ask his Heavenly Guest : — 

" Great things, and full of wonder in our ears, 70 

Far differing from this World, thou hast revealed, 
Divine Interpreter! by favour sent 



1 66 PARADISE LOST. [Book vii, 

Down from the Empyrean to forewarn 

Us timely of what might else have been our loss, 

Unknown, which human knowledge could not reach ; 

For which to the infinitely Good we owe 

Immortal thanks, and his admonishment 

Receive with solemn purpose to observe 

Immutably his sovran will, the end 

Of what we are. But, since thou hast vouchsafed 80 

Gently, for our instruction, to impart 

Things above Earthly thought, which yet concerned 

Our knowing, as to highest Wisdom seemed, 

Deign to descend now lower, and relate 

What may no less perhaps avail us known — 

How first began this Heaven which we behold 

Distant so high, with moving fires adorned 

Innumerable ; and this which yields or fills 

All space, the ambient Air, wide interfused. 

Embracing round this florid Earth ; what cause 90 

Moved the Creator, in his holy rest 

Through all eternity, so late to build 

In Chaos; and, the work begun, how soon 

Absolved : if unforbid thou may'st unfold 

What we not to explore the secrets ask 

Of his eternal empire, but the more 

To magnify his works the more we know. 

And the great Light of Day yet wants to run 

Much of his race, though steep. Suspense in heaven 

Held by thy voice, thy potent voice he hears, 100 

And longer will delay, to hear thee tell 

His generation, and the rising birth 

Of Nature from the unapparent Deep : 

Or, if the Star of Evening and the Moon 

Haste to thy audience. Night with her will bring 

Silence, and Sleep listening to thee will watch ; * 

Or we can bid his absence till thy song 

End, and dismiss thee ere the morning shine." 

Thus Adam his illustrious guest besought ; 
And thus the godlike Angel answered mild: — no 

" This also thy request, with caution asked. 
Obtain ; though to recount almighty works 
What words or tongue of Seraph can suffice. 
Or heart of man suffice to comprehend? 
Yet what thou canst attain, which best may serve 
To glorify the Maker, and infer 
Thee also happier, shall not be withheld 
Thy hearing. Such commission from above 
I have received, to answer thy desire 



I 



I 



Book vit.] PARADISE LOST. 167 



Of knowledge within bounds; beyond abstain 120 

To ask, nor let thine own inventions hope 

Things not revealed, which the invisible King, 

Only omniscient, hath suppressed in night. 

To none communicable in Earth or Heaven. 

Enough is left besides to search and know; 

But Knowledge is as food, and needs no less 

Her temperance over appetite, to know 

In measure what the mind may well contain; 

Oppresses else with surfeit, and soon turns 

Wisdom to folly, as nourishment to wind. 130 

'• Know then that, after Lucifer from Heaven 
(So call him, brighter once amidst the host 
Of Angels than that star the stars among) 
Fell with his flaming legions through the Deep 
Into his place, and the great Son returned 
Victorious with his Saints, the Omnipotent 
Eternal Father from his throne beheld 
Their multitude, and to his Son thus spake : — 

" ' At least our envious foe hath failed, who thought 
All like himself rebellious ; by wdiose aid 140 

This inaccessible high strength, the seat 
Of Deity supreme, us dispossessed. 
He trusted to have seized, and into fraud 
Drew many whom their place knows here no more. 
Yet far the greater part have kept, I see. 
Their station ; Heaven, yet populous, retains 
Number sufficient to possess her realms. 
Though wide, and this higli temple to frequent 
With ministeries due and solemn rites. 

But, lest his heart exalt him in the harm 150 

Already done, to have dispeopled Heaven — 
My damage fondly deemed — I can repair 
That detriment, if such it be to lose 
Self-lost, and in a moment will create 
Another world ; out of one man a race 
Of men innumerable, there to dwell. 
Not here, till, by degrees of merit raised. 
They open to themselves at length the Avay 
Up hither, under long obedience tried. 

And Earth be changed to Heaven, and Heaven to Earth, 160 
One kingdom, joy and union without end. 
Meanwhile inhabit lax, ye Powers of Heaven ; 
And thou, my Word, begotten Son, by thee 
This I perform ; speak thou, and be it done ! 
My overshadowing Spirit and might with thee 
I send along; ride forth, and bid the Deep 



[68 PARADISE LOST, [Book vii. 



Within appointed bounds be heaven and earth. 

Boundless the Deep, because I am who fill 

Infinitude ; nor vacuous the space, 

Though I, uncircumscribed, myself retire, 170 

And put not forth my goodness, which is free 

To act or not. Necessity and Chance 

Approach not me, and what I will is Fate.' 

"So spake the Almighty; and to what he spake 
His Word, the Filial God'head, gave effect. 
Immediate are the acts of God, more swift 
Than time or motion, but to human ears 
Cannot without process of speech be told, 
So told as earthly notion can receive. 

Great triumph and rejoicing was in Heaven 180 

When such was heard declared the Almighty's will. 
Glory they sung to the Most High, good-will 
To future men, and in their dwellings peace — 
Glory to Him whose just avenging ire 
Had driven out the ungodly from his sight 
And the habitations of the just ; to Him 
Glory and praise whose wisdom had ordained 
Good out of evil to create — instead 
Of Spirits malign, a better race to bring 

Into their vacant room, and thence diflfuse - 190 

His good to worlds and ages infinite. 

" So sang the Hierarchies. Meanwhile the Son 
On his great expedition now appeared, 
Girt with omnipotence, with radiance crowned 
Of majesty divine, sapience and love 
Immense; and all his Father in him shone. 
About his chariot numberless were poured 
Chemb and Seraph, Potentates and Thrones, 
And Virtues, winged Spirits, and chariots winged 
From the armoury of God, where stand of old 200 

Myriads, between' two brazen mountains lodged 
Against a solemn day, harnessed at hand. 
Celestial equipage ; and now came forth 
Spontaneous, for within them Spirit lived. 
Attendant on their Lord. Heaven opened wide 
Her ever-during gates, harmonious sound 
On golden hinges moving, to let forth 
The' King of Glory, in his pov/erfiil Word 
And Spirit coming to create new worlds. 

On Heavenly ground they stood, and from the shore 210 

They viewed the vast immeasurable Abyss, 
Outrageous as a sea, dark, wasteful, wild. 
Up from the bottom turned by furious winds 



Book vii.] PARADISE LOST. 169 



And surging waves, as mountains to assault 
Heaven's highth, and witli the centre mix the pole. 

" ' Silence, ye troubled waves, and, thou Deep, peace ! ' 
Said then the omnific Word : ' your discord end ! ' 
Nor stayed ; but, on the wings of Cherubim 
Uplifted, in paternal glory rode 

Far into Chaos and the World unborn ; 220 

For Chaos heard his voice. Him all Ins train 
Followed in bright procession, to behold 
Creation, and the wonders of his might. 
Then stayed the fervid wheels, and in his hand 
He took the golden compasses, prepared 
In God's eternal store, to circumscribe 
This Universe, and all created things. 
One foot he centred, and the other turned 
Round through the vast profundity obscure, 

And said, ' Thus far extend, thus far thy bounds ; 230 

This be thy just circumference, O World ! ' 
Thus God the Heaven created, thus the Earth, 
Matter unformed and void. Darkness profound 
Covered the Abyss ; but on the watery calm 
His brooding wings the Spirit of God outspread, 
And vital virtue infused, and vital warmth. 
Throughout the fluid mass, but downward purged 
The black, tartareous, cold, infernal dregs. 
Adverse to life ; then founded, then conglobed. 
Like things to like, the rest to several place 240 

Disparted, and between spun out the Air, 
And Earth, self-balanced, on her centre hung. 

"' Let there be Light!' said God; and forthwith Light 
Ethereal, first of things, quintessence pure. 
Sprung from the Deep, and from her native East 
To journey through the aery gloom began. 
Sphered in a radiant cloud — for yet the Sun 
Was not ; she in a cloudy tabernacle 
Sojourned the while. God saw the Light was good ; 
And light from darkness by the hemisphere 250 

Divided : Light the Day, and Darkness Night, 
He named. Thus was the first Day even and morn; 
Nor passed uncelebrated, nor unsung 
By the celestial quires, when orient light 
Exhaling first from darkness they beheld. 
Birth-day of Heaven and Earth. With joy and shout 
The hollow universal orb they filled. 
And touched their golden harps, and hymning praised 
God and his works ; Creator him they sung, 
Both when first evening was, and when first morn. 260 



I/O PARADISE LOST. [Book vil 



"Again God said, 'Let there be firmament 
Amid the waters, and let it divide 
The waters from the waters ! ' And God made 
The firmament, expanse of Hquid, pure, 
Transparent, elemental air, diftused 
In circuit to the uttermost convex 
Of this great round — partition firm and sure, 
The waters underneath from those above 
Dividing ; for as Earth, so he the World 

Built on circumfluous waters calm, in wide 270 

Crystalline ocean, and the loud misrule 
Of Chaos far removed, lest fierce extremes 
Contiguous might distemper the whole frame : 
And Heaven he named the Firmament. So even 
And morning chorus sung the second Day. 

"The Earth was formed, but, in the womb as yet 
Of waters, embryon immature, involved. 
Appeared not ; over all the face of Earth 
Main ocean flowed, not idle, but, with warm 

Prolific humour softening all her globe, 280 

Fermented the great mother to conceive, 
Satiate with genial moisture ; when God said, 
' Be gathered now, ye waters under heaven, 
Into one place, and let dry land appear!' 
Immediately the mountains huge appear 
Emergent, and their broad .bare backs upheave 
Into the clouds; their tops ascend the sky. 
So high as heaved the tumid hills, so low 
Down sunk a hollow bottom broad and deep, 

Capacious bed of waters. Thither they 290 

Hasted with glad precipitance, uprolled, 
As drops on dust conglobing, from the dry : 
Part rise in crystal wall, or ridge direct, 
For haste ; such flight the great command impressed 
On the swift floods. As armies at the call 
Of trumpet (for of armies thou hast heard) 
Troop to the standard, so the watery throng. 
Wave rolling after wave, where way they found — 
If steep, with torrent rapture, if through plain. 
Soft-ebbing ; nor withstood them rock or hill ; 300 

But they, or underground, or circuit wide 
With serpent error wandering, found their way, 
And on the washy ooze deep channels wore : 
Easy, ere God had bid the ground be dry. 
All but within those banks where rivers now 
Stream, and perpetual draw their humid train. 
The dry land Earth, and the great receptacle 



Book VII.] PARADISE LOST. 171 



Of congregated waters he called Seas ; 

And saw that it was good, and said, ^ Let the Earth 

Put forth the verdant grass, herb yielding seed, 310 

And fruit-tree yielding fruit after her kind. 

Whose seed is in herself upon the Earth ! ' 

He scarce had said when the bare Earth, till then 

Desert and bare, unsightly, unadorned. 

Brought forth the tender grass, whose verdure clad 

Her universal face with pleasant green ; 

Then herbs of every leaf, that sudden flowered, 

Opening their various colours, and made gay 

Her bosom, smelling sweet ; and, these scarce blown, 

Forth flourished thick the clustering vine, forth crept 320 

The smelling gourd, up stood the corny reed 

Embattled in her field : add the humble shrub, 

And bush with frizzled hair implicit : last 

Rose, as in dance, the stately trees, and spread 

Their branches hung with copious fruit, or gemmed 

Their blossoms. With high woods the hills were crowned, 

With tufts the valleys and each fountain-side, 

With borders long the rivers, that Earth now 

Seemed like to Heaven, a seat where gods might dwell, 

Or wander with delight, and love to haunt 330 

Her sacred shades ; though God had yet not rained 

Upon the Earth, and man to till the ground 

None was, but from the Earth a dewy mist 

Went up and watered all the ground, and each 

Plant of the field, which ere it was in the Earth 

God made, and every herb before it grew 

On the green stem. God saw that it was good; 

So even and morn recorded the third Day. 

" Again the Almighty spake, ' Eet there be Lights 
High in the expanse of Heaven, to divide 340 

The Day from Night ; and let them be for signs, 
For seasons,* and for days, and circling years ; 
And let them be for lights, as I ordain 
Their office in the firmament of heaven. 
To give light on the Earth!' and it was so. 
And God made two great Lights, great for their use 
To Man, the greater to have rule by day, 
The less by night, altern ; and made the Stars, 
And set them in the firmament of heaven 

To illuminate the Earth, and rule the day 350 

In their vicissitude, and rule the night. 
And light from darkness to divide. God saw, 
Surveying his great work, that it was good : 
For, of celestial bodies, first the Sun 



172 PARADISE LOST. [Book vii. 

A mighty sphere he framed, unlightsome first, 

Though of ethereal mould ; then formed the Moon 

Globose, and every magnitude of Stars, 

And sowed with stars the heaven thick as a field. 

Of light by far the greater part he took, 

Transplanted from her cloudy shrine, and placed 360 

In the Sun\s orb, made porous to receive 

And drink the liquid light, firm to retain 

Her gathered beams, great palace now of Light. 

Hither, as to their fountain, other stars 

Repairing in their golden urns draw light, 

And hence the morning planet gilds her horns ; 

By tincture or reflection they augment 

Their small peculiar, though, from human sight 

So far remote, with diminution seen. 

First in his east the glorious lamp was seen, yjo 

Regent of day, and all the horizon round 

Invested with bright rays, jocund to run 

His longitude through heaven's high road ; the grey 

Dawn, and the Pleiades, before him danced. 

Shedding sweet influence. Less bright the Moon, 

But opposite in levelled west, was set. 

His mirror, with full face borrowing her light 

From him ; for other light she needed none 

In that aspect, and still that distance keeps 

Till night ; then in the east her turn she shines, 380 

Revolved on heaven's great axle, and her reign 

With thousand lesser lights dividual holds, 

With thousand thousand stars, that then appeared 

Spangling the hemisphere. Then first adorned 

With her bright luminaries, that set and rose. 

Glad evening and glad morn crowned the fourth Day. 

" And God said, ' Let the waters generate 
Reptile with spawn abundant, living soul ; 
And let Fowl fly above the earth, with wings 
Displayed on the open firmament of heaven ! ' 390 

And God created the great whales, and each 
Soul living, each that crept, which plenteously 
The waters generated by their kinds. 
And every bird of wing after his kind, 
And saw that it was good, and blessed them, saying, 
' Be fruitful, multiply, and, in the seas, 
And lakes, and running streams, the waters fill ; 
And let the fowl be multiplied on the earth ! ' 
Forthwith the sounds and seas, each creek and bay, 
With fry innumerable swarm, and shoals 400 

Of fish that, with their fins and shining scales, 



Book VII.] PARADISE LOST. 173 



Glide under the green wave in sculls that oft 

Bank the mid-sea. Part, single or with mate, 

Graze the sea-weed, their pasture, and through groves 

Of coral stray, or, sporting with quick glance, 

Show to the sun their waved coats dropt with gold. 

Or, in their pearly shells at ease, attend 

Moist nutriment, or under rocks their food 

In jointed armour watch ; on smooth the seal 

And bended dolphins play: part, huge of bulk, 410 

Wallowing unwieldy, enormous in their gait, 

Tempest the ocean. There leviathan, 

Hugest of living creatures, on the deep 

Stretched like a promontory, sleeps or swims. 

And seems a moving land, and at his gills 

Draws in, and at his trunk spouts out, a sea. 

Meanwhile the tepid caves, and fens, and shores, 

Their brood as numerous hatch from the ^g'g^ that soon. 

Bursting with kindly mpture, forth disclosed 

Their callow young ; but feathered soon and fledge 420 

They summed their pens, and, soaring the air sublime, 

With clang despised the ground, under a cloud 

In prospect. There the eagle and the stork 

On cliffs and cedar-tops their eyries build. 

Part loosely wing the region ; part, more wise, 

In common, ranged in figure, wedge their way, 

Intelligent of seasons, and set forth 

Their aery caravan, high over seas 

Flying, and over lands, with mutual wing 

Easing their flight : so steers the prudent crane 430 

Her annual voyage, borne on winds : the air 

Floats as they pass, fanned with unnumbered plumes. 

From branch to branch the smaller birds with song 

Solaced the woods, and spread their painted wings. 

Till even ; nor then the solemn nightingale 

Ceased warbling, but all night tuned her soft lays. 

Others, on silver lakes and rivers, bathed 

Their downy breast ; the swan, with arched neck 

Between her white wings mantling proudly, rows 

Her state with oary feet ; yet oft they quit 440 

The dank, and, rising on stiff pennons, tower 

The mid aerial sky. Others on ground 

Walked firm — the crested cock, whose clarion sounds 

The silent hours, and the other, whose gay train 

Adorns him, coloured with the florid hue 

Of rainbows and starry eyes. The waters thus 

With Fish replenished, and the air with Fowl, 

Evening and morn solemnized the fifth Day. 



174 PARADISE LOST. [Book vii. 



" The sixth, and of Creation last, arose 
With evening harps and matin ; when God said, 450 

' Let the Eartli bring forth soul living in her kind, 
Cattle, and creeping things, and beast of the earth. 
Each in their kind ! ' The Earth obeyed, and, straight 
Opening her fertile womb, teemed at a birth 
Jnnumeroiis living creatures, perfect forms, 
Lhnbed and full-grown. Out of the ground up rose, 
As from his lair, the wild beast, where he wons 
In forest wild, in thicket, brake, or den — 
Among the trees in pairs they rose, they walked ; 
The cattle in the fields and meadows green : 460 

Those rare and solitary, these in flocks 
Pasturing at once and in broad herds, upspmng. 
The grassy clods now calved ; now half appeared 
The tawny lion, pawing to get free 
His hinder parts — then springs, as broke from bonds, 
And rampant shakes his brinded mane ; the ounce, 
The libbard, and the tiger, as the mole 
Rising, the cmmbled earth above them threw 
In hillocks ; the swift stag from underground 

Bore up his branching head ; scarce from his mould 470 

Behemoth, biggest born of earth, upheaved 
His vastness ; fleeced the flocks and bleating rose, 
As plants ; ambiguous between sea and land, 
The river-horse and scaly crocodile. 
At once came forth whatever creeps the ground. 
Insect or worm. Those waved their limber fans 
For wings, and smallest lineaments exact 
In all the liveries decked of summer's pride. 
With spots of gold and purple, azure and green ; 
These as a line their long dimension drew, 480 

Streaking the ground with sinuous trace : not all 
Minims of nature ; some of serpent kind, 
Wondrous in length and corpulence, involved 
Their snaky folds, and added wings. First crept 
The parsimonious emmet, provident 
Of future, in small room large heart enclosed — 
Pattern of just equality perhaps 
Hereafter — joined in her popular tribes 
Of commonalty. Swarming next appeared 

The female bee, that feeds her husband drone 490 

Deliciously, and builds her waxen cells 
With honey stored. The rest are numberless, 
And thou their natures know'st, and gav'st them names, 
Needless to thee repeated ; nor unknown 



Book VII.] PARADISE LOST. 175 

The serpent, subtlest beast of all the field, 
Of huge extent sometimes, with brazen eyes 
And hairy mane terrific, though to thee 
Not noxious, but obedient at thy call. 

*' Now Heaven in all her glory shone, and rolled 
Her motions, as the great First Mover's hand 500 

First wheeled their course ; Earth, in her rich attire 
Consummate, lovely smiled ; Air, Water, Earth, 
By fowl, fish, beast, was flown, was swum, was walked. 
Frequent ; and of the sixth Day yet remained. 
There wanted yet the master-work, the end 
Of all yet done — a creature who, not prone 
And brute as other creatures, but endued 
With sanctity of reason, might erect 
His stature, and, upright with front serene 

Govern the rest, self-knowing, and from thence 510 

Magnanimous to correspond with Heaven, 
But grateful to acknowledge whence his good 
Descends ; thither with heart, and voice, and eyes 
Directed in devotion, to adore 
And worship God Supreme, who made him chief 
Of all his works. Therefore the Omnipotent 
Eternal Father (for where is not He 
Present ?) thus to his Son audibly spake : — 
' Let us make now Man in our image, Man 

In our similitude, and let them rule 520 

Over the fish and fowl of sea and air. 
Beast of the field, and over all the earth, 
And every creeping thing that creeps the ground ! ' 
This said, he formed thee, Adam, thee, O Man, 
Dust of the ground, and in thy nostrils breathed 
The breath of life ; in his own image he 
Created thee, in the image of God 
Express, and thou becam'st a living soul. 
Male he created thee, but thy consort 

Female, for race ; then blessed mankind, and said, 530 

^ Be fruitful, multiply, and fill the Earth ; 
Subdue it, and throughout dominion hold 
Over fish of the sea, and fowl of the air. 
And every living thing that moves on the Earth ! ' 
Wherever thus created — for no place 
Is yet distinct by name — thence, as thou know'st. 
He brought thee into this delicious grove. 
This Garden, planted with the trees "of God, 
Delectable both to behold and taste, 
And freely all their pleasant fruit for food 540 



176 PARADISE LOST. [Book vii. 

Gave thee. All sorts are here that all the earth yields, 

Variety without end ; but of the tree 

Which tasted works knowledge of good and evil 

Thou may'st not ; in the day thou eat'st, thou diest. 

Death is the penalty imposed ; beware, 

And govern well thy appetite, lest Sin 

Surprise thee, and her black attendant. Death. 

'' Here finished He, and all that he had made 
Viewed, and, behold ! all was entirely good. 

So even and morn accomplished the sixth Day; 550 

Yet not till the Creator, from his work 
Desisting, though unwearied, up returned. 
Up to the Heaven of Heavens, his high abode, 
Thence to behold this new-created World, 
The addition of his empire, how it showed 
In prospect from his throne, how good, how fair, 
Answering his great idea. Up he rode. 
Followed with acclamation, and the sound 
Symphonious of ten thousand harps, that tuned 
Angelic harmonies. The Earth, the Air 560 

Resounded (thou remember^st, for thou heard'st), 
The heavens and all the constellations rung. 
The planets in their stations listening stood, 
While the bright pomp ascended jubilant. 
' Open, ye everlasting gates ! ' they sung ; 
^ Open, ye Heavens, your living doors ! let in 
The great Creator, from his work returned 
Magnificent, his six days' work, a World ! 
Open, and henceforth oft ; for God will deign 

To visit oft the dwellings of just men 570 

Delighted, and with frequent intercourse 
Thither will send his winged messengers 
On errands of supernal grace.' So sung 
The glorious train ascending. He through Heaven, 
That opened wide her blazing portals, led 
To God's eternal house direct the way — 
A broad and ample road, whose dust is gold. 
And pavement stars, as stars to thee appear 
Seen in the Galaxy, that milky way 

Which nightly as a circling zone thou seest 580 

Powdered with stars. And now on Earth the seventh 
Evening arose in Eden — for the sun 
Was set, and twilight from the east came on, 
Forerunning night — when at the holy mount 
Of Heaven's high-seated top, the imperial throne 
Of Godhead, fixed for ever firm and sure. 



Book VII.] PARADISE LOST. 177 

The Filial Power arrived, and sat him down 

With his great Father ; for he also went 

Invisible, yet stayed (such privilege 

Hath Omnipresence) and the work ordained, 590 

Author and end of all things, and, from work 

Now resting, blessed and hallowed the seventh Day, 

As resting on that day from all his work ; 

But not in silence holy kept : the harp 

Had work, and rested not ; the solemn pipe 

And dulcimer, all organs of sweet stop. 

All sounds on fret by string or golden wire. 

Tempered soft tunings, intermixed wdth voice 

Choral or unison ; of incense clouds. 

Fuming from golden censers, hid the Mount. 600 

Creation and the Six Days' acts they sung : — 

'Great are thy works, Jehovah! infinite 

Thy power! what thought can measure thee, or tongue 

Relate thee — greater now in thy return 

Than from the Giant-angels? Thee that day 

Thy thunders magnified ; but to create 

Is greater than created to destroy. 

Who can impair thee, mighty King, or bound 

Thy empire? Easily the proud attempt 

Of Spirits apostate, and their counsels vain, 610 

Thou kast repelled, while impiously they thought 

Thee to diminish, and from thee withdraw 

The number of thy worshipers. Who seeks 

To lessen thee, against his purpose, ser\'es 

To manifest the more thy might; his evil 

Thou usest, and from thence creafst more good. 

Witness this new-made World, another Heaven 

From Heaven-gate not far, founded in view 

On the clear hvaline, the glassy sea; 

Of amplitude almost immense, with stars 620 

Numerous, and every star perhaps a world 

Of destined habitation — but thou know'st 

Their seasons ; among these the seat of men, 

Earth, with her nether ocean circumfused, 

Their pleasant dwelling-place. Thrice happy men, 

And sons of men, whom God hath thus advanced, 

Created in his image, there to dwell 

And worship him, and in reward to rule 

Over his works, on earth, in sea, or air. 

And multiply a race of worshipers 630 

Holy and just! thrice happy, if they know 

Their happiness, and persevere upright!' 



[78 PARADISE LOST. [Book vii. 

" So sung they, and the Empyrean nmg 
With halleluiahs. Thus was Sabbath kept. 
And thy request think now fulfilled, that asked 
How first this World and face of things began, 
And what before thy memory was done 
From the beginning, that posterity, 
Informed by thee, might know. If else thou seek'st 
Aught, not surpassing human measure, say." 640 



THE END OF THE SEVENTH BOOK. 



O^-WMQ 



PARADISE LOST. 

BOOK VIII. 

THE ARGUMENT. 

Adam inquires concerning celestial motions; is doubtfully answered, and exhorted to 
search rather things more worthy of knowledge. Adam assents, and, still desirous to detain 
Raphael, relates to him what he remembered since his own creation — his placing in Paradise; 
his talk with God concerning solitude and fit society; his first meeting and nuptials with 
Eve. His discourse with the Angel thereupon; who, after admonitions repeated, departs. 

THE Angel ended, and in Adam's ear 
So charming left his voice that he a while 
Thought him still speaking, still stood fixed to hear; 
Then, as new-waked, thus gratefully replied : — 
''What thanks sufficient, or what recompense 
Equal, have I to render thee, divine 
Historian, who thus largely hast allayed 
The thirst I had of knowledge, and vouchsafed 
This friendly condescension to relate 

Things else by me unsearchable — now heard lo 

With wonder, but delight, and, as is due, 
With glory attributed to the high 
Creator? Something yet of doubt remains, 
Which only thy solution can resolve. 
When I behold this goodly frame, this World, 
Of Heaven and Earth consisting, and compute 
Their magnitudes — this Earth, a spot, a grain, 
An atom, with the Firmament compared 
And all her numbered stars, that seem to roll 
Spaces incomprehensible (for such 20 

Their distance argues, and their swift return 
Diurnal) merely to officiate light 
Round this opacous Earth, this punctual spot, 
One day and night, in all their vast survey 
Useless besides — reasoning, I oft admire 
How Nature, wise and frugal, could commit 

179 



i8o PARADISE LOST. [Book viii. 

Such disproportions, with superfluous hand 

So many nobler bodies to create, 

Greater so manifold, to this one use, 

For aught appears, and on their Orbs impose 30 

Such restless revolution day by day 

Repeated, while the sedentary Earth, 

That better might with far less compass move, 

Served by more noble than herself, attains 

Her end without least motion, and receives. 

As tribute, such a sumless journey brought 

Of incorporeal speed, her warmth and light : 

Speed, to describe whose swiftness number fails/' 

So spake our Sire, and by his countenance seemed 
Entering on studious thoughts abstruse ; which Eve 4° 

Perceiving, where she sat retired in sight, 
With lowliness majestic from her seat. 
And grace that won who saw to wish her stay. 
Rose, and went forth among her fruits and flowers, 
To visit how they prospered, bud and bloom. 
Her nursery ; they at her coming sprung, 
And, touched by her fair tendance, gladlier grew. 
Yet went she not as not with such discourse 
Delighted, or not capable her ear 

Of what was high. Such pleasure she reserved, 50 

Adam relating, she sole auditress ; 
Her husband the relater she preferred 
Before the Angel, and of him to ask 
Chose rather ; he, she knew, would intermix 
Grateful digressions, and solve high dispute 
With conjugal caresses : from his lip 
Not words alone pleased her. Oh, when meet now 
Such pairs, in love and mutual honour joined? 
With goddess-like demeanour forth she went. 

Not unattended ; for on her as Queen 60 

A pomp of winning Graces waited still. 
And from about her shot darts of desire 
Into all eyes, to wish her still in sight. 
And Raphael now to Adam's doubt proposed 
Benevolent and facile thus replied : — 

" To ask or search I blame thee not ; for Heaven 
Is as the Book of God before thee set, 
Wherein to read his wondrous works, and learn 
His seasons, hours, or days, or months, or years. 
This to attain, whether Heaven move or Earth 70 

Imports not, if thou reckon right ; the rest 
From Man or Angel the great Architect 
Did wisely to conceal, and not divulge 



Book VIII.] PARADISE LOST. i8i 

His secrets, to be scanned by them who ought 

Rather admire. Or, if they list to try 

Conjecture, he his fabric of the Heavens 

Hath left to their disputes — perhaps to move 

His laughter at their quaint opinions wide 

Hereafter, when they come to model Heaven, 

And calculate the stars ; how they will wield 80 

The mighty frame ; how build, unbuild, contrive 

To save appearances ; how gird the Sphere 

With Centric and Eccentric scribbled o'er, 

Cycle and Epicycle, Orb in Orb. 

Already by thy reasoning this I guess, 

Who art to lead thy offspring, and supposest 

That bodies bright and greater should not serve 

The less not bright, nor Heaven such journeys run, 

Earth sitting still, when she alone receives 

The benefit. Consider, first, that great 90 

Or bright infers not excellence. The Earth, 

Though, in comparison of Heaven, so small. 

Nor glistering, may of solid good contain 

More plenty than the Sun that barren shines, 

Whose virtue on itself works no effect. 

But in the fruitful Earth ; there first received, 

His beams, unactive else, their vigour find. 

Yet not to Earth are those bright luminaries 

Officious, but to thee. Earth's habitant. 

And, for the Heaven's wide circuit, let it speak 100 

The Maker's high magnificence, who built 

So spacious, and his line stretched out so far. 

That Man may know he dwells not in his own — 

An edifice too large for him to fill. 

Lodged in a small partition, and the rest 

Ordained for uses to his Lord best known. 

The swiftness of those Circles attribute. 

Though numberless, to his omnipotence. 

That to corporeal substances could add 

Speed almost spiritual. Me thou think'st not slow, no 

Who since the morning-hour set out from Heaven 

Where God resides, and ere mid-day arrived 

In Eden — distance inexpressible 

By numbers that have name. But this I urge. 

Admitting motion in the Heavens, to show 

Invalid that which thee to doubt it moved ; 

Not that I so affirm, though so it seem 

To thee who hast thy dwelling here on Earth. 

God, to remove his ways from human sense. 

Placed Heaven from Earth so far, that earthly sight, 120 



1 82 PARADISE LOST. [Book viii. 



If it presume, might err in things too high, 

And no advantage gain. What if the Sun 

Be centre to the World, and other Stars, 

By his attractive virtue and their own 

Incited, dance about him various rounds? 

Their w^andering course, now high, now low, then hid, 

Progressive, retrograde, or standing still, 

In six thou seest ; and what if, seventh to these, 

The planet Earth, so steadfast though she seem, 

Insensibly three different motions move? 130 

Which else to several spheres thou must ascribe, 

Moved contrary with thwart obliquities. 

Or save the Sun his labour, and that swift 

Nocturnal and diurnal rhomb supposed, 

Invisible else above all stars, the wheel 

Of Day and Night; which needs not thy belief. 

If Earth, industrious of herself, fetch Day, 

Travelling east, and with her part averse 

From the Sun's beam meet Night, her other part 

Still luminous by his ray. What if that light, 140 

Sent from her through the wide transpicuous air. 

To the terrestrial Moon be as a star, 

Enlightening her by day, as she by night 

This Earth — reciprocal, if land be there, 

Fields and inhabitants? Her spots thou seest 

As clouds, and clouds may rain, and rain produce 

Fruits in her softened soil, for some to eat 

Allotted there ; and other Suns, perhaps. 

With their attendant Moons, thou wilt descry. 

Communicating male and female light — 150 

Which two great sexes animate the World, 

Stored in each Orb perhaps with some that live. 

For such vast room in Nature unpossessed 

By living soul, desert and desolate, 

Only to shine, yet scarce to contribute 

Each Orb a glimpse of light, conveyed so far 

Down to this habitable, which returns 

Light back to them, is obvious to dispute. 

But whether thus these things, or whether not — 

Whether the Sun, predominant in heaven, 160 

Rise on the Earth, or Earth rise on the Sun; 

He from the east his flaming road begin, 

Or she from west her silent course advance 

With inoffensive pace that spinning sleeps 

On her soft axle, while she paces even. 

And bears thee soft with the smooth air along — 

Solicit not thy thoughts with matters hid : 



HoOKvm.] PARADISE LOST. 183 

Leave them to God above ; him serve and fear. 

Of other creatures as him pleases best, 

Wherever placed, let him dispose ; joy thou 170 

In what he gives to thee, this Paradise 

And thy fair Eve ; Heaven is for thee too high 

To know what passes there. Be lowly wise ; 

Think only what concerns thee and thy being ; 

Dream not of other worlds, what creatures there 

Live, in what state, condition, or degree — 

Contented that thus far hath been revealed 

Not of Earth only, but of highest Heaven." 

To whom thus Adam, cleared of doubt, replied : — 
" How fully hast thou satisfied me, pure 180 

Intelligence of Heaven, Angel serene, 
And, freed from intricacies, taught to live 
The easiest way, nor with perplexing thoughts 
To interrupt the sweet of life, from which 
God hath bid dwell far off all anxious cares. 
And not molest us, unless we ourselves 
Seek them with wandering thoughts, and notions vain! 
But apt the mind or fancy is to rove 
Unchecked ; and of her roving is no end. 

Till, warned, or by experience taught, she learn 190 

That not to know at large of things remote 
From use, obscure and subtle, but to know 
That which before us lies in daily life. 
Is the prime wisdom : what is more is fume, 
Or emptiness, or fond impertinence, 
And renders us in things that most concern 
Unpractised, unprepared, and still to seek. 
Therefore from this high pitch let us descend 
A lower flight, and speak of things at hand 

Useful ; whence, haply, mention may arise 200 

Of something not unseasonable to ask. 
By sufferance, and thy wonted favour, deigned. 
Thee I have heard relating what was done 
Ere ,my remembrance ; now hear me relate 
My story, which, perhaps, thou hast not heard. 
And day is yet not spent ; till then thou seest 
rlow subtly to detain thee I devise. 
Inviting thee to hear while I relate — 
Fond, were it not in hope of thy reply. 

For, while I sit with thee, I seem in Heaven; 210 

And sweeter thy discourse is to my ear 
Than fruits of palm-tree, pleasantest to thirst 
And hunger both, from labour, at the hour 
Of sweet repast. They satiate, and soon fill. 



i84 PARADISE LOST. [Book viii. 



Though pleasant; but thy words, with grace divine 
Imbued, bring to their sweetness no satiety/' 

To whom thus Raphael answered, heavenly meek : — 
" Nor are thy lips ungraceful. Sire of Men, 
Nor tongue ineloquent ; for God on thee 

Abundantly his gifts hath also poured, 220 

Inward and outward both, his image fair : 
Speaking, or mute, all comeliness and grace 
Attends thee, and each word, each motion, forms. 
Nor less think we in Heaven of thee on Earth 
Than of our fellow-servant, and inquire 
Gladly into the ways of God with Man ; 
For God, we see, hath honoured thee, and set 
On Man his equal love. Say therefore on ; 
For I that day was absent, as befell. 

Bound on a voyage uncouth and obscure, 230 

Far on excursion toward the gates of Hell, 
Squared in full legion (such command we had), 
To see that none thence issued forth a spy 
Or enemy, while God was in his work, 
Lest he, incensed at such eruption bold, 
Destruction with Creation might have mixed. 
Not that they durst without his leave attempt ; 
But us he sends upon his high behests 
For state, as sovran King, and to inure 

Our prompt obedience. Fast we found, fast shut, 240 

The dismal gates, and barricadoed strong. 
But, long ere our approaching, heard within 
Noise, other than the sound of dance or song — 
Torment, and loud lament, and furious rage. 
Glad we returned up to the coasts of Light 
Ere Sabbath-evening; so we had in charge. 
But thy relation now ; for I attend. 
Pleased with thy words no less than thou with mine." 

So spake the godlike Power, and thus our Sire : — 
" For Man to tell how human life began 250 

Is hard; for who himself beginning knew? 
Desire with thee still longer to converse 
Induced me. As new- waked from soundest sleep, 
Soft on the flowery herb I found me laid, » 

In balmy sweat, which with his beams the Sun 
Soon dried, and on the reeking moisture fed. 
Straight toward Heaven my wondering eyes I turned, 
And gazed a while the ample sky, till, raised 
By quick instinctive motion, up I sprung, 

As thitherward endeavouring, and upright 260 

Stood on my feet. About me round I saw 



Book VIII.] PARADISE LOST. 185 

Hill, dale, and shady woods, and sunny plains, 

And liquid lapse of murmuring streams ; by these, 

Creatures that lived and moved, and walked or flew, 

Birds on the branches warbling : all things smiled ; 

With fragrance and with joy my heart overflowed. 

Myself I then perused, and limb by limb 

Surveyed, and sometimes went, and sometimes ran 

With 'supple joints, as lively vigour led ; 

But who I was, or where, or from w^hat cause, 270 

Knew not. To speak I tried, and forthwith spake; 

My tongue obeyed, and readily could name 

Whatever I saw. 'Thou Sun,' said I, 'fair light, 

And thou enlightened Earth, so fresh and gay, 

Ye hills and dales, ye rivers, woods, and plains. 

And ye that live and move, fair creatures, tell, 

Tell, if ye saw, how came I thus, how here! 

Not of myself; by some great Maker then, 

In goodness and in power pre-eminent. 

Tell me, how may I know him, how adore, 280 

From whom I have that thus I move and live, 

And feel that I am happier than I know!' 

While thus I called, and strayed I knew not w^hither, 

From where I first drew air, and first beheld 

This happy light, when answer none returned, 

On a green shady bank, profuse of flow^ers. 

Pensive I sat me down. There gentle sleep 

First found me, and with soft oppression seized 

My drowsed sense, untroubled, though I thought 

I then was passing to my former state 290 

Insensible, and forthwith to dissolve : 

When suddenly stood at my head a dream, 

Whose inward apparition gently moved 

My fancy to believe I yet had being, 

And lived. One came, methought, of shape divine, 

And said, ^ Thy mansion wants thee. Adam ; rise. 

First Man, of men innumerable ordained 

First father! called by thee, I come thy guide 

To the Garden of bliss, thy seat preparecL' 

So saying, by the hand he took me, raised, 300 

And over fields and waters, as in air 

Smooth sliding without step, last led me up 

A woody mountain, whose high top was plain, 

A circuit wide, enclosed, with goodliest trees 

Planted, with walks and bowers, that what I saw 

Of Earth before scarce pleasant seemed. Each tree 

Loaden with fairest fruit, that hung to the eye 

Tempting, stirred in me sudden appetite 



1 86 PARADISE LOST. [Book viii. 

To pluck and eat ; whereat I waked, and found 

Before mine eyes all real, as the dream 310 

Had lively shadowed. Here had new begun 

My wandering, had not He who was my guide 

Up hither from among the trees appeared, 

Presence Divine. Rejoicing, but with awe, 

In adoration at his feet I fell 

Submiss. He reared me, and, '^Whom thou sought''st I am,' 

Said mildly, ' Author of all this thou seest 

Above, or round about thee, or beneath. 

This Paradise I give thee ; count it thine 

To till and keep, and of the fruit to eat. 320 

Of every tree that in the Garden grows 

Eat freely with glad heart; fear here no dearth. 

But of the tree whose operation brings 

Knowledge of good and ill, which I have set, 

The pledge of thy obedience and thy faith, 

Amid the garden by the Tree of Life — 

Remember what I warn thee — shun to taste. 

And shun the bitter consequence : for know, 

The day thou eat'st thereof, my sole command 

Transgressed, inevitably thou shalt die, 330 

From that day mortal, and this happy state 

Shalt lose, expelled from hence into a world 

Of woe and sorrow.' Sternly he pronounced 

The rigid interdiction, which resounds 

Yet dreadful in mine ear, 

Not to incur; but soon his clear aspect 

Returned, and gracious purpose thus renewed : — 

' Not only these fair bounds, but all the Earth 

To thee and to thy race I give ; as lords 

Possess it, and all things that therein live, 340 

Or live in sea or air, beast, fish, and fowl. 

In sign whereof, each bird and beast behold 

After their kinds ; I bring them to receive 

From thee their names, and pay thee fealty 

With low subjection. Understand the same 

Of fish within their watery residence. 

Not hither summoned, since they cannot change 

Their element to draw the thinner air.' 

As thus he spake, each bird and beast behold 

Approaching two and two — these cowering low 350 

With blandishment ; each bird stooped on his wing. 

I named them as they passed, and understood 

Their nature ; with such knowledge God endued 

My sudden apprehension. But in these 

I found not what methought I wanted still, 



Book VIII.] PARADISE LOST. 187 

And to the Heavenly Vision thus presumed : — 

" ^ O, by what name — for Thou above all these, 
Above mankind, or aught than mankind higher, 
Surpassest far my naming — how may I 

Adore thee, Author of this Universe, 360 

And all this good to Man, for whose well-being 
So amply, and with hands so liberal. 
Thou hast provided all things? But with me 
I see not who partakes. In solitude 
What happiness? who can enjoy alone, 
Or, all enjoying, what contentment find?' 
Thus I, presumptuous ; and the Vision bright. 
As with a smile more brightened, thus replied : — 

"'What calPst thou solitude? Is not the Earth 
With various living creatures, and the Air, 370 

Replenished, and all these at thy command 
To come and play before thee? Know'st thou not 
Their language and their ways? They also know. 
And reason not contemptibly; with these 
Find pastime, and bear rule ; thy realm is large.'' 
So spake the Universal Lord, and seemed 
So ordering. I, with leave of speech implored. 
And humble deprecation, thus replied : — 

" ' Let not my words offend thee, Heavenly Power ; 
My Maker, be propitious while I speak. 380 

Hast thou not made me here thy substitute. 
And these inferior far beneath me set? 
Among unequals what society 
Can sort, what harmony or true delight? 
Which must be mutual, in proportion due 
Given and received ; but, in disparity. 
The one intense, the other still remiss, 
Cannot well suit with either, but soon prove 
Tedious alike. Of fellowship I speak 

Such as I seek, fit to participate 390 

All rational delight, wherein the bmte 
Cannot be human consort. They rejoice 
Each with their kind, lion with lioness ; 
So fitly them in pairs thou hast combined : 
Much less can bird with beast, or fish with fowl. 
So well converse, nor with the ox the ape ; 
Worse, then, can man with beast, and least of all.' 

" Whereto the Almighty answered, not displeased : — 
' A nice and subtle happiness, I see. 

Thou to thyself proposest, in the choice 400 

Of thy associates, Adam, and wilt taste 
No pleasure, though in pleasure, solitary. 



i88 PARADISE LOST. [Book viii. 



What think'st thou, then, of me, and this my state? 

Seem I to thee sufficiently possessed 

Of happiness, or not, who am alone 

From all eternity? for none I know 

Second to me or like, equal much less. 

How have I, then, with whom to hold converse, 

Save with the creatures which I made, and those 

To me inferior infinite descents 410 

Beneath what other creatures are to thee ? ' 

"He ceased. I lowly answered: — 'To attain 
The highth and depth of thy eternal ways 
All human thoughts come short, Supreme of Things! 
Thou in thyself art perfect, and in thee 
Is no deficience found. Not so is Man, 
But in degree — the cause of his desire 
By conversation with his like to help 
Or solace his defects. No need that thou 

Should'st propagate, already infinite, 420 

And through all numbers absolute, though One ; 
But Man by number is to manifest 
His single imperfection, and beget 
Like of his like, his image multiplied. 
In unity defective ; which requires 
Collateral love, and dearest amity. 
Thou, in thy secrecy although alone, 
Best with thyself accompanied, seek'st not 
Social communication — yet, so pleased, 

Canst raise thy creature to what highth thou wilt 430 

Of union or communion, deified ; 
I, by conversing, cannot these erect 
From prone, nor in their ways complacence find.' 
Thus I emboldened spake, and freedom used 
Permissive, and acceptance found ; which gained 
This answer from the gracious Voice Divine : — 

" ' Thus far to try thee, Adam, I was pleased, 
And find thee knowing not of beasts alone, 
Which thou hast rightly named, but of thyself — 
Expressing well the spirit within thee free, 440 

My image, not imparted to the brute ; 
Whose fellowship, therefore, unmeet for thee. 
Good reason was thou freely shouldst dislike. 
And be so minded still. I, ere thou spak'st, 
Knew it not good for Man to be alone, 
And no such company as then thou saw'st 
Intended thee — for trial only brought, 
To see how thou couldst judge of fit and meet. 
What next I bring shall please thee, be assured, 



BooKvm.] PARADISE LOST. 189 

Thy likeness, thy fit help, thy other self, 450 

Thy wish exactly to thy heart's desire.' 

" He ended, or I heard no more ; for now 
My earthly, by his heavenly overpowered, 
Which it had long stood under, strained to the highth 
In that celestial colloquy sublime, 
As with an object that excels the sense. 
Dazzled and spent, sunk down, and sought repair 
Of sleep, which instantly fell on me, called 
By Nature as in aid, and closed mine eyes. 

Mine eyes he closed, but open left the cell 460 

Of fancy, my internal sight ; by which. 
Abstract as in a trance, methought I saw, 
Though sleeping, where I lay, and saw the Shape 
Still glorious before whom awake I stood ; 
Who, stooping, opened my left side, and took 
From thence a rib, with cordial spirits warm, 
And life-blood streaming fresh ; wide was the wound. 
But suddenly with flesh filled up and healed. 
The rib he formed and fashioned with his hands ; 
Under his forming hands a creature grew, 470 

Man-like, but different sex, so lovely fair 
That what seemed fair in all the world seemed now 
Mean, or in her summed up, in her contained 
And in her looks, which from that time infused 
Sweetness into my heart unfelt before. 
And into all things from her air inspired 
The spirit of love and amorous delight. 
She disappeared, and left me dark ; I waked 
To find her, or for ever to deplore 

Her loss, and other pleasures all abjure : 480 

When, out of hope, behold her not far off, 
Such as I saw her in my dream, adorned 
With what all Earth or Heaven could bestow 
To make her amiable. On she came, 
Led by her Heavenly Maker, though unseen 
And guided by his voice, nor uninformed 
Of nuptial sanctity and marriage rites. 
Grace was in all her steps, heaven in her eye, 
In every gesture dignity and love. 
I, overjoyed, could not forbear aloud : — 490 

" '■ This turn hath made amends ; thou hast fulfilled 
Thy words. Creator bounteous and benign. 
Giver of all things fair — but fairest this 
Of all thy gifts! — nor enviest. I now see 
Bone of my bone, flesh of my flesh, my Self 
Before me. Woman is her name, of Man 



190 PARADISE LOST. [Book viii. 



Extracted ; for this cause he shall forgo 

Father and mother, and to his wife adhere, 

And they shall be one flesh, one heart, one soul.' 

" She heard me thus ; and, though divinely brought, 500 

Yet innocence and virgin modesty, 
Her virtue, and the conscience of her worth. 
That would be wooed, and not unsought be won, 
Not obvious, not obtrusive, but retired. 
The more desirable — or, to say all. 
Nature herself, though pure of sinful thought — 
Wrought in her so, that, seeing me, she turned. 
I followed her ; she what was honour knew, 
And with obsequious majesty approved 

My pleaded reason. To the nuptial bower 510 

I led her blushing like the Morn ; all Heaven, 
And happy constellations, on that hour 
Shed their selectest influence ; the Earth 
Gave sign of gratulation, and each hill ; 
Joyous the birds ; fresh gales and gentle airs 
Whispered it to the woods, and from their wings 
Flung rose, flung odours from the spicy shrub. 
Disporting, till the amorous bird of night 
Sung spousal, and bid haste the Evening-star 
On his hill-top to light the bridal lamp. 520 

"Thus have I told thee all my state, and brought 
My story to the sum of earthly bliss 
Which I enjoy, and must confess to find 
In all things else delight indeed, but such 
As, used or not, works in the mind no change. 
Nor vehement desire — these delicacies 
I mean of taste, sight, smell, herbs, fruits, and flowers, 
Walks, and the melody of birds : but here, 
Far otherwise, transported I behold, 

Transported touch ; here passion first I felt, 530 

Commotion strange, in all enjoyments else 
Superior and unmoved, here only weak 
Against the charm of beauty^s powerful glance. 
Or Nature failed in me, and left some part 
Not proof enough such object to sustain, 
Or, from my side subducting, took perhaps ' 
More than enough — at least on her bestowed 
Too much of ornament, in outward show 
Elaborate, of inward less exact. 

For well I understand in the prime end 540 

Of Nature her the inferior, in the mind 
And inward faculties, which most excel ; 
In outward also her resembling less 



Book VIII.] PARADISE LOST. 191 



His image wlio made both, and less expressing 

The character of that dominion given 

Oer other creatures. Yet when I approach 

Her lovehness, so absolute she seems 

And in herself complete, so well to know 

Her own, that what she wills to do or say 

Seems wisest, virtuousest, discreetest, best. 550 

All higher Knowledge in her presence falls 

Degraded ; Wisdom in discourse with her 

Loses, discountenanced, and like Folly shows ; 

Authority and Reason on her wait, 

As one intended first, not after made 

Occasionally ; and, to consummate all, 

Greatness of mind and nobleness their seat 

Build in her loveliest, and create an awe 

About her, as a guard angelic placed. ^^ 

To whom the Angel, with contracted brow : — 560 

" Accuse not Nature ! she hath done her part ; 
Do thou but thine! and be not diffident 
Of Wisdom ; she deserts thee not, if thou 
Dismiss not her, when most thou need'st her nigh, 
By attributing overmuch to things 
Less excellent, as thou thyself perceiv'st. 
For, what admir'st thou, what transports thee so? 
An outside — fair, no doubt, and worthy well 
Thy cherishing, thy honouring, and thy love ; 

Not thy subjection. Weigh with her thyself; 570 

Then value. Oft-times nothing profits more 
Than self-esteem, grounded on just and right 
Well managed. Of that skill the more thou know'st, 
The more she will acknowledge thee her head. 
And to realities yield all her shows — 
Made so adorn for thy delight the more. 
So awful, that with honour thou may'st love 
Thy mate, who sees when thou art seen least wise. 
But, if the sense of touch, whereby mankind 

Is propagated, seem such dear delight 580 

Beyond all other, think the same vouchsafed 
To cattle and each beast ; which would not be 
To them made common and divulged, if aught 
Therein enjoyed were worthy to subdue 
The soul of Man, or passion in him move. 
What higher in her society thou find'st 
Attractive, human, rational, love still : 
In loving thou dost well ; in passion not, 
Wherein true Love consists not. Love refines 
The thoughts, and heart enlarges — hath his seat 590 



192 PARADISE LOST. [Book viii. 

In Reason, and is judicious, is the scale 
By wliich to Heavenly Love thou may'st ascend, 
Not sunk in carnal pleasure ; for which cause 
Among the beasts no mate for thee was found." 

To whom thus, half abashed, Adam replied : — 
" Neither her outside formed so fair, nor aught 
In procreation, common to all kinds 
(Though higher of the genial bed by far. 
And with mysterious reverence, I deem). 

So much delights me as those graceful acts, 600 

Those thousand decencies, that daily flow 
From all her words and actions, mixed with love 
And sweet compliance, which declare unfeigned 
Union of mind, or in us both one soul — 
Harmony to behold in wedded pair 
More grateful than harmonious sound to the ear. 
Yet these subject not ; I to thee disclose 
What inward thence I feel, not therefore foiled. 
Who meet with various objects, from the sense 
Variously representing, yet, still free, 610 

Approve the best, and follow what I approve. 
To love thou blam^st me not — for Love, thou say'st, 
Leads up to Heaven, is both the way and guide ; 
Bear with me, then, if lawful what I ask. 
Love not the Heavenly Spirits, and how their love 
Express they — by looks only, or do they mix 
Irradiance, virtual or immediate touch ? " 

To whom the Angel, with a smile that glowed 
Celestial rosy-red. Love's proper hue. 

Answered: — "Let it suffice thee that thou know'st 620 

Us happy, and without Love no happiness. 
Whatever pure thou in the body enjoy'st 
(And pure thou wert created) we enjoy 
In eminence, and obstacle find none 
Of membrane, joint, or limb, exclusive bars. 
Easier than air with air, if Spirits embrace. 
Total they mix, union of pure with pure 
Desiring, nor restrained conve3^ance need 
As flesh to mix with flesh, or soul with soul. 

But I can now no more : the parting Sun 630 

Beyond the Earth's green Cape and verdant Isles 
Hesperean sets, my signal to depart. 
Be strong, live happy, and love! but first of all 
Him whom to love is to obey, and keep 
His great command ; take heed lest passion sway 
Thy judgment to do aught which else free-will 
Would not admit ; thine and of all thy sons 



Book VIII.] PARADISE LOST. 193 



The weal or woe in thee is placed ; beware ! 

I in thy persevering shall rejoice, 

And all the Blest. Stand fast; to stand or fall 640 

Free in thine own arbitrement it lies. 

Perfect within, no outward aid require ; 

And all temptation to transgress repel." 

So saying, he arose ; whom Adam thus 
Followed with benediction : — " Since to part, 
Go, Heavenly Guest, Ethereal Messenger, 
Sent from whose sovran goodness I adore ! 
Gentle to me and affable hath been 
Thy condescension, and shall be honoured ever 
With grateful memory. Thou to Mankind 650 

Be good and friendly still, and oft return ! " 

So parted they, the Angel up to Heaven 
From the thick shade, and Adam to his bower. 



THE END OF THE EIGHTH BOOK. 



PARADISE LOST. 

BOOK IX. 



THE ARGUMENT. 

Satan, having compassed the Earth, with meditated guile returns as a mist by night into 
Paradise; enters into the Serpent sleeping. Adam~ and Eve in the morning go forth to their 
labours, which Eve proposes to divide in several places, each labouring apart: Adam consents 
not, alleging the danger lest tliat enemy of whom they were forewarned should attempt her 
found alone. Eve, loth to be thought not circumspect or firm enough, urges her going apart, 
the rather desirous to make trial of her strength; Adam at last yields. The Serpent finds 
her alone: his subtle approach, first gazing, then speaking, with much flattery extolling Eve 
above all other creatures. Eve, wondering to hear the Serpent speak, asks how he attained 
to human speech and such understanding not till now; the Serpent answers that by tasting 
of a certain tree in the Garden he attained both to speech and reason, till then void of both. 
Eve requires him to bring her to that tree, and finds it to be the Tree of Knowledge forbidden: 
the Serpent, now grown bolder, with many wiles and arguments induces her at length to eat. 
She, pleased with the taste, deliberates awhile whether to impart thereof to Adam or not; at 
last brings him of the fruit; relates what persuaded her to eat thereof. Adam, at first amazed, 
but perceiving her lost, resolves, through vehemence of love, to perish with her, and, exten- 
uating the trespass, eats also of the fruit. The effects thereof in them both; they seek to 
cover their nakedness ; then fall to variance and accusation of oire another. 

NO more of talk where God or Angel Guest 
With Man, as with his friend, familiar used 
To sit indulgent, and with him partake 
Rural repast, permitting him the while 
Venial discourse unblamed. I now must change 
Those notes to tragic — foul distrust, and breach 
Disloyal, on the part of man, revolt 
And disobedience ; on the part of Heaven, 
Now alienated, distance and distaste, 

Anger and just rebuke, and judgment given, ic 

That brought into this World a world of woe, 
Sin and her shadow Death, and Misery, 
Death's harbinger. Sad task ! yet argument 
Not less but more heroic than the wrath 
Of stern Achilles on his foe pursued 
Thrice fugitive about Troy wall ; or rage 
Of Turnus for Lavinia disespoused ; 
Or Neptune's ire, or Juno's, that so long 

194 



Book ix.] PARADISE LOST. 195 

Perplexed the Greek, and Cytherea's son : 

If answerable style I can obtain 20 

Of my celestial Patroness, who deigns 

Her nightly visitation unimplored. 

And dictates to me slumbering, or inspires 

Easy my unpremeditated verse, 

Since first this subject for heroic song 

Pleased me, long choosing and beginning late, 

Not sedulous by nature to indite 

Wars, hitherto the only argument 

Heroic deemed, chief mastery to dissect 

With long and tedious havoc fabled knights 30 

In battles feigned (the better fortitude 

Of patience and heroic martyrdom 

Unsung), or to describe races and games, 

Or tilting furniture, emblazoned shields, 

Impresses quaint, caparisons and steeds. 

Bases and tinsel trappings, gorgeous knights 

At joust and tournament ; then marshalled feast 

Served up in hall with sew^ers and seneshals : 

The skill of artifice or office mean ; 

Not that which justly gives heroic name 40 

To person or to poem! Me, of these 

Nor skilled nor studious, higher argument 

Remains, sufficient of itself to raise 

That name, unless an age too late, or cold 

Climate, or years, damp my intended wing 

Depressed ; and much they may if all be mine, 

Not hers who brings it nightly to my ear. 

The Sun w-as sunk, and after him the Star . 
Of Hesperus, whose office is to bring 

Twilight upon the Earth, short arbiter 50 

'Twixt day and night, and now from end to end 
Night's hemisphere had veiled the horizon round, 
Wlien Satan, who late fled before the threats 
Of Gabriel out of Eden, now improved 
In meditated fraud and malice, bent 
On Man's destruction, maugre what might hap 
Of heavier on himself, fearless returned. 
By night he fled, and at midnight returned 
From compassing the Earth — cautious of day 
Since Uriel, Regent of the Sun, descried 60 

His entrance, and forewarned the Cherubim 
That kept their watch. Thence, full of anguish, driven, 
The space of seven continued nights he rode 
With darkness — thrice the equinoctial line 
He circled, four times crossed the car of Night 



196 PARADISE LOST. [Book ix. 

From pole to pole, traversing each coliire — 
On the eighth returned, and on the coast averse 
From entrance or cherubic watch by stealth 
Found unsuspected way. There was a place 

(Now not, though Sin, not Time, first wrought the change) 70 
Where Tigris, at the foot of Paradise, 
Into a gulf shot under ground, till part 
Rose up a fountain by the Tree of Life. 
In with the river sunk, and with it rose, 
Satan, involved in rising mist; then sought 
Where to lie hid. Sea he had searched and land 
From Eden over Pontus, and the Pool 
Maeotis, up beyond the river Ob ; 
Downward as far antarctic; and, in length, 

West from Orontes to the ocean barred 80 

At Darien, thence to the land where flows 
Ganges and Indus. Thus the orb he roamed 
With narrow search, and with inspection deep 
Considered every creature, which of all 
Most opportune might serve his wiles, and found 
The Serpent subtlest beast of all the field. 
Him, after long debate, irresolute 
Of thoughts revolved, his final sentence chose 
Fit vessel, fittest imp of fraud, in whom 

To enter, and his dark suggestions hide 90 

From sharpest sight; for in the wily snake 
Whatever sleights none would suspicious mark, 
As from his wit and native subtlety 
Proceeding, which, in other beasts observed. 
Doubt might beget of diabolic power 
Active within beyond the sense of brute. 
Thus he resolved, but first from inward grief 
His bursting passion into plaints thus poured : — 
" O Earth, how like to Heaven, if not preferred 
More justly, seat worthier of Gods, as built 100 

With second thoughts, reforming what was old! 
For what God, after better, worse would build? 
Terrestrial Heaven, danced round by other Heavens, 
That shine, yet bear their bright officious lamps, ' 

Light above light, for thee alone, as seems, I 

In the concentring all their precious beams ' 

Of sacred influence ! As God in Heaven ' 

Is centre, yet extends to all, so thou 
Centring receiv'st from all those orbs ; in thee. 
Not in themselves, all their known virtue appears, no 

Productive in herb, plant, and nobler birth 
Of creatures animate with gradual life 






Book ix.] PARADISE LOST. 197 



Of growth, sense, reason, all summed up in Man. 

With what delight could I have walked thee round, 

If I could joy in aught — sweet interchange 

Of hill and valley, rivers, woods, and plains. 

Now land, now sea, and shores with forest crowned, 

Rocks, dens, and caves! But I in none of these 

Find place or refuge ; and the more I see 

Pleasures about me, so much more I feel 120 

Torment within me, as from the hateful siege 

Of contraries ; all good to me becomes 

Bane, and in Heaven much worse would be my state. 

But neither here seek I, no, nor in Heaven, 

To dwell, unless by mastering Heaven's Supreme ; 

Nor hope to be myself less miserable 

By what I seek, but others to make such 

As I, though thereby worse to me redound. 

For only in destroying I find ease 

To my relentless thoughts ; and him destroyed, 130 

Or won to what may work his utter loss. 

For whom all this was made, all this will soon 

Follow, as to him linked in weal or woe : 

In woe then, that destruction wide may range! 

To me shall be the glory sole among 

The Infernal Powers, in one day to have marred 

What he, Almighty styled, six nights and days 

Continued making, and who knows how long 

Before had been contriving? though perhaps 

Not longer than since I in one night freed 140 

From servitude inglorious well nigh half 

The Angelic Name, and thinner left the throng 

Of his adorers. He, to be avenged, 

And to repair his numbers thus impaired — 

Whether such virtue, spent of old, now failed 

More Angels to create (if they at least 

Are his created), or to spite us more — 

Determined to advance into our room 

A creature formed of earth, and him endow. 

Exalted from so base original, 150 

With heavenly spoils, our spoils. What he decreed 

He effected ; Man he made, and for him built 

Magnificent this World, and Earth his seat, 

Him Lord pronounced, and, O indignity! 

Subjected to his service Angel-wings 

And flaming ministers, to watch and tend 

Their earthy charge. Of these the vigilance 

I dread, and to elude, thus wrapt in mist 

Of midnight vapour, glide obscure, and pry 



198 PARADISE LOST. [Book ix. 

In every bush and brake, where hap may find 160 

The Serpent sleeping, in whose mazy folds 

To hide me, and the dark intent I bring. 

O foul descent! that I, who erst contended 

With Gods to sit the highest, am now constrained 

Into a beast, and, mixed with bestial slime. 

This essence to incarnate and imbrute. 

That to the highth of deity aspired! 

But what will not ambition and revenge 

Descend to? Who aspires must down as low 

As high he soared, obnoxious, first or last, 170 

To basest things. Revenge, at first though sweet, 

Bitter ere long back on itself recoils. 

Let it ; I reck not, so it light well aimed, 

Since higher I fall short, on him who next 

Provokes my envy, this new favourite 

Of Heaven, this Man of Clay, son of despite. 

Whom, us the more to spite, his Maker raised 

From dust : spite then with spite is best repaid." 

So saying, through each thicket, dank or dry, 
Like a black mist low-creeping, he held on 180 

His midnight search, where soonest he might find 
The Serpent. Him fast sleeping soon he found. 
In labyrinth of many a round self-rolled, 
His head the midst, well stored with subtle wiles: 
Not yet in horrid shade or dismal den. 
Nor nocent yet, but on the grassy herb. 
Fearless, unfeared, he slept. In at his mouth 
The Devil entered, and his brutal sense. 
In heart or head, possessing soon inspired 

With act intelligential ; but his sleep 190 

Disturbed not, waiting close the approach of morn. 

Now, whenas sacred light began to dawn 
In Eden on the humid flowers, that breathed 
Their morning incense, when all things that breathe 
From the Earth's great altar send up silent praise 
To the Creator, and his nostrils fill 
With grateful smell, forth came the human pair. 
And joined their vocal worship to the quire 
Of creatures wanting voice ; that done, partake 
The season, prime for sweetest scents and airs ; 200 

Then commune how that day they best may ply 
Their growing work — for much their work outgrew 
The hands' dispatch of two gardening so wide : 
And Eve first to her husband thus began : — 

''Adam, well may we labour still to dress 
This Garden, still to tend plant, herb, and flower, 



Book ix.] PARADISE LOST. 199 

Our pleasant task enjoined ; but, till more hands 
Aid us, the work under our labour grows, 
Luxurious by restraint : what we by day 

Lop overgrown, or prune, or prop, or bind, 210 

One night or two with wanton growth derides, 
Tending to wild. Thou, therefore, now advise, 
Or hear what to my mind first thoughts present. 
Let us divide our labours — thou where choice 
Leads thee, or where most needs, Avhether to wind 
The woodbine round this arbour, or direct 
The clasping ivy where to climb ; while I 
In yonder spring of roses intermixed 
With myrtle find what to redress till noon. 

For, while so near each other thus all day 220 

Our task we choose, what wonder if so near 
Looks intervene and smiles, or objects new 
Casual discourse draw on, which intermits 
Our day"'s work, brought to little, though begun 
Early, and the hour of supper comes unearned ! " 
To whom mild answer Adam thus returned : — 
" Sole Eve, associate sole, to me beyond 
Compare above all living creatures dear ! 
Well hast thou motioned, well thy thoughts employed 
How we might best fulfil the work which here 230 

God hath assigned us, nor of me shalt pass 
Unpraised ; for nothing lovelier can be found 
In woman than to study household good, 
And good works in her husband to promote. 
Yet not so strictly hath our Lord imposed 
Labour as to debar us when we need 
Refreshment, whether food, or talk between, 
Food of the mind, or this sweet intercourse 
Of looks and smiles ; for smiles from reason flow 
To brute denied, and are of love the food — 240 

Love, not the lowest end of human life. 
For not to irksome toil, but to delight. 
He made us, and delight to reason joined. 
These paths and bowers doubt not but our joint hands 
Will keep from wilderness with ease, as wide 
As we need walk, till younger hands ere long 
Assist us. But, if much converse perhaps 
Thee satiate, to short absence I could yield; 
For solitude sometimes is best society. 

And short retirement urges sweet return. 250 

But other doubt possesses me, lest harm 
Befall thee, severed from me ; for thou know^st 
What hath been warned us — what malicious foe, 



200 PARADISE LOST. [Book ix. 



Envying our happiness, and of his own 

Despairing, seeks to work us woe and shame 

By sly assault, and somewhere nigh at hand 

Watches, no doubt, with greedy hope to find 

His wish and best advantage, us asunder, 

Hopeless to circumvent us joined, where each 

To other speedy aid might lend at need. 260 

Whether his first design be to withdraw 

Our fealty from God, or to disturb 

Conjugal love — than which perhaps no bliss 

Enjoyed by us excites his envy more — 

Or this, or worse, leave not the faithful side 

That gave thee being, still shades thee and protects. 

The wife, where danger or dishonour lurks, 

Safest and seemliest by her husband stays, 

Who guards her, or with her the worst endures." 

To whom the virgin majesty of Eve, 270 

As one who loves, and some unkindness meets. 
With sweet austere composure thus replied : — 

" Oifspring of Heaven and Earth, and all Earth's lord ! 
That such an enemy we have, who seeks 
Our ruin, both by thee informed I learn. 
And from the parting angel overheard, 
As in a shady nook I stood behind. 
Just then returned at shut of evening flowers. 
But that thou shouldst my firmness therefore doubt 
To God or thee, because we have a foe 280 

May tempt it, I expected not to hear. 
His violence thou fear'st not, being such 
As we, not capable of death or pain, 
Can either not receive, or can repel. 
His fraud is, then, thy fear; which plain infers 
Thy equal fear that my firm faith and love 
Can by his fraud be shaken or seduced : 
Thoughts, which how found they harbour in thy breast, 
Adam ! misthought of her to thee so dear } " 

To whom, with healing words, Adam replied : — 290 

" Daughter of God and Man, immortal Eve ! — 
For such thou art, from sin and blame entire — 
Not diffident of thee do I dissuade 
Thy absence from my sight, but to avoid 
The attempt itself, intended by our foe. 
For he who tempts, though in vain, at least asperses 
The tempted with dishonour foul, supposed 
Not incorruptible of faith, not proof 
Against temptation. Thou thyself with scorn 
And anger wouldst resent the offered wrong, 300 



\ 



Book ix.] PARADISE LOST. 201 

Though ineffectual found ; misdeem not, then, 

If such affront I labour to avert 

From thee alone, which on us both at once 

The enemy, though bold, will hardly dare ; 

Or, daring, first on me the assault shall light. 

Nor thou his malice and false guile contemn — 

Subtle he needs must be who could seduce 

Angels — nor think superfluous others' aid. 

I from the influence of thy looks receive 

Access in every virtue — in thy sight 310 

More wise, more watchful, stronger, if need were 

Of outward strength ; while shame, thou looking on, 

Shame to be overcome or overreached. 

Would utmost vigour raise, and raised unite. 

Why shouldst not thou like sense within thee feel 

When I am present, and thy trial choose 

With me, best witness of thy virtue tried ? '' 

So spake domestic Adam in his care 
And matrimonial love ; but Eve, who thought 
Less attributed to her faith sincere, 320 

Thus her reply with accent sweet renewed : — 

" If this be our condition, thus to dwell 
In narrow circuit straitened by a foe, 
Subtle or violent, we not endued 
Single with like defence wherever met. 
How are we happy, still in fear of harm? 
But harm precedes not sin : only our foe 
Tempting affronts us with his foul esteem 
Of our integrity : his foul esteem 

Sticks no dishonour on our front, but turns 330 

Foul on himself; then wherefore shunned or feared 
By us, who rather double honour gain 
From his surmise proved false, find peace within. 
Favour from Heaven, our witness, from the event? 
And what is faith, love, virtue, unassayed 
Alone, without exterior help sustained ? 
Let us not then suspect our happy state 
Left so imperfect by the Maker wise 
As not secure to single or combined. 

Frail is our happiness, if this be so ; 340 

And Eden were no Eden, thus exposed." 

To whom thus Adam fervently replied : — 
" O Woman, best are all things as the will 
Of God ordained them ; his creating hand 
Nothing imperfect or deficient left 
Of all that he created — much less Man, 
Or aught tliat might his happy state secure, 



k- 



202 PARADISE LOST. [Book ix. 

Secure from outward force. Within himself 

The danger lies, yet lies within his power; 

Against his will he can receive no harm. 350 

But God left free the Will ; for what obeys 

Reason is free ; and Reason he made right, 

But bid her well be ware, and still erect, 

Lest, by some fair appearing good surprised, 

She dictate false, and misinform the Will 

To do what God expressly hath forbid. 

Not then mistrust, but tender love, enjoins 

That I should mind thee oft ; and mind thou me. 

Firm we subsist, yet possible to swerve, 

Since Reason not impossibly may meet 360 

Some specious object by the foe suborned, 

And fall into deception unaware. 

Not keeping strictest watch, as she was warned. 

Seek not temptation, then, which to avoid 

Were better, and most likely if from me 

Thou sever not : trial will come unsought. 

Wouldst thou approve thy constancy, approve 

First thy obedience ; the other who can know. 

Not seeing the attempted, who attest? 

But, if thou think trial unsought may find 370 

Us both securer than thus warned thou seem^st, 

Go; for thy stay, not free, absents thee more. 

Go in thy native innocence ; rely 

On what thou hast of virtue ; summon all ; 

For God toward thee hath done his part : do thine." 

So spake the Patriarch of Mankind ; but Eve 
Persisted ; yet submiss, though last, replied : — 

" With thy permission, then, and thus forewarned, 
Chiefly by what thy own last reasoning words 
Touched only, that our trial, when least sought, 380 

May find us both perhaps far less prepared. 
The willinger I go, nor much expect 
A foe so proud will first the weaker seek ; 
So bent, the more shall shame him his repulse." 

Thus saying, from her husband's hand her hand 
Soft she withdrew, and, like a wood-nymph light, 
Oread or Dryad, or of Delia's train, 
Betook her to the groves, but Delia's self 
In gait surpassed and goddess-like deport. 

Though not as she with bow and quiver armed, 390 

But with such gardening tools as Art, yet rude, 
Guiltless of fire had formed, or Angels brought. 
To Pales, or Pomona, thus adorned, 
Likest she seemed — Pomona when she fled 



Book ix.] PARADISE LOST. 203 



Vertvimnus — or to Ceres in her prime, 

Yet virgin of Proserpina from Jove. 

Her long with ardent look his eye pursued 

Delighted, but desiring more her stay. 

Oft he to her his charge of quick return 

Repeated ; she to him as oft engaged 400 

To be returned by noon amid the bower, 

And all things in best order to invite 

Noontide repast, or afternoon's repose. 

O much deceived, much failing, hapless Eve, 

Of thy presumed return ! event perverse ! 

Thou never from that hour in Paradise 

Found'st either sweet repast or sound repose ; 

Such ambush, hid among sweet flowers and shades, 

Waited, with hellish rancour imminent, 

To intercept thy way, or send thee back 410 

Despoiled of innocence, of faith, of bliss. 

For now, and since first break of dawn, the Fiend, 

Mere serpent in appearance, forth was come, 

And on his quest where likeliest he might find 

The only two of mankind, but in them 

The whole included race, his purposed prey. 

In bower and field he sought, where any tuft 

Of grove or garden-plot more pleasant lay. 

Their tendance or plantation for delight ; 

By fountain or by shady rivulet 420 

He sought them both, but wished his hap might find 

Eve separate ; he wished, but not with hope 

Of what so seldom chanced, when to his wish, 

Beyond his hope. Eve separate he spies. 

Veiled in a cloud of fragrance, where she stood, 

Half-spied, so thick the roses bushing round 

About her glowed, oft stooping to support 

Each flower of tender stalk, whose head, though gay 

Carnation, purple, azure, or specked with gold, 

Hung drooping unsustained. Them she upstays 430 

Gently with myrtle band, mindless the while 

Herself, though fairest unsupported flower, 

From her best prop so far, and storm so nigh. 

Nearer he drew, and many a walk traversed 

Of stateliest covert, cedar, pine, or palm ; 

Then voluble and bold, now hid, now seen 

Among thick-woven arborets, and flowers 

Imbordered on each bank, the hand of Eve : 

Spot more delicious than those gardens feigned 

Or of revived Adonis, or renowned 440 

Alcinous, host of old Laertes' son, 



204 PARADISE LOST. [Book ix. 



Or that, not mystic, where the sapient king 

Held dalliance with his fair Egyptian spouse. 

Much he the place admired, the person more. 

As one who, long in populous city pent. 

Where houses thick and sewers annoy the air, 

Forth issuing on a summer's morn, to breathe 

Among the pleasant villages and farms 

Adjoined, from each thing met conceives delight — 

The smell of grain, or tedded grass, or kine, 450 

Or dairy, each rural sight, each rural sound — 

If chance with nymph-like step fair virgin pass, 

What pleasing seemed for her now pleases more, 

She most, and in her look sums all delight : 

Such pleasure took the Serpent to behold 

This flowery plat, the sweet recess of Eve 

Thus early, thus alone. Her heavenly form 

Angelic, but more soft and feminine. 

Her graceful innocence, her every air 

Of gesture or least action, overawed 460 

His malice, and with rapine sweet bereaved 

His fierceness of the fierce intent it brought. 

That space the Evil One abstracted stood 

From his own evil, and for the time remained 

Stupidly good, of enmity disarmed, 

Of guile, of hate, of envy, of revenge. 

But the hot hell that always in him burns, 

Though in mid Heaven, soon ended his delight, 

And tortures him now more, the more he sees 

Of pleasure not for him ordained. Then soon 470 

Fierce hate he recollects, and all his thoughts 

Of mischief, gratulating, thus excites : — 

" Thoughts, whither have ye led me ? with what sweet 
Compulsion thus transported to forget 
What hither brought us ? hate, not love, nor hope 
Of Paradise for Hell, hope here to taste 
Of pleasure, but all pleasure to destroy, 
Save what is in destroying ; other joy 
To me is lost. Then let me not let pass 

Occasion which now smiles. Behold alone 480 

The Woman, opportune to all attempts — 
Her husband, for I view far round, not nigh. 
Whose higher intellectual more I shun. 
And strength, of courage haughty, and of limb 
Heroic built, though of terrestrial mould ; 
Foe not informidable, exempt from wound — 
I not ; so much hath Hell debased, and pain 
Enfeebled me, to what I was in Heaven. 



Book ix.] PARADISE LOST. 205 

She fair, divinely fair, fit love for Gods, 

Not terrible, though terror be in love, 490 

And beauty, not approached by stronger hate, 

Hate stronger under show of love well feigned — 

The way which to her ruin now I tend/' 

So spake the Enemy of Mankind, enclosed 
In serpent, inmate bad, and toward Eve 
Addressed his way — not with indented wave. 
Prone on the ground, as since, but on his rear, 
Circular base of rising folds, that towered 
Fold above fold, a surging maze ; his head 

Crested aloft, and carbuncle his eyes ; 500 

With burnished neck of verdant gold, erect 
Amidst his circling spires, that on the grass 
Floated redundant. Pleasing was his shape 
And lovely ; never since of serpent kind 
Lovelier — not those that in Illyria changed 
Hermione and Cadmus, or the god 
In Epidaurus ; nor to which transformed 
Ammonian Jove, or Capitoline, was seen. 
He with Olympias, this with her who bore 

Scipio, the highth of Rome. With tract oblique 510 

At first, as one who sought access but feared 
To interrupt, sidelong he works his way. 
As when a ship, by skilful steersman wrought 
Nigh river's mouth or foreland, where the wind 
Veers oft, as oft so steers, and shifts her sail, 
So varied he, and of his tortuous train 
Curled many a wanton wreath in sight of Eve, 
To lure her eye. She, busied, heard the sound 
Of rustling leaves, but minded not, as used 

To such disport before her through the field 520 

From every beast, more duteous at her call 
Than at Circean call the herd disguised. 
He, bolder now, uncalled before her stood, 
But as in gaze admiring. Oft he bowed 
His turret crest and sleek enamelled neck. 
Fawning, and licked the ground whereon she trod. 
His gentle dumb expression turned at length 
The eye of Eve to mark his play ; he, glad 
Of her attention gained, with serpent-tongue 

Organic, or impulse of vocal air, 530 

His fraudulent temptation thus began : — 

" Wonder not, sovran mistress (if perhaps 
Thou canst who art sole wonder), much less arm 
Thy looks, the heaven of mildness, with disdain. 
Displeased that I approach thee thus, and gaze 



2o6 PARADISE LOST. [Book ix. 



Insatiate, I thus single, nor have feared 

Thy awful brow, more awful thus retired. 

Fairest resemblance of thy Maker fair, 

Thee all things living gaze on, all things thine 

By gift, and thy celestial beauty adore, 540 

With ravishment beheld — there best beheld 

Where universally admired. But here. 

In this enclosure wild, these beasts among, 

Beholders rude, and shallow to discern 

Half what in thee is fair, one man except. 

Who sees thee (and what is one ?) who shouldst be seen 

A Goddess among Gods, adored and served 

By Angels numberless, thy daily train?'' 

So glozed the Tempter, and his proem tuned. 
Into the heart of Eve his words made way, 550 

Though at the voice much marvelling; at length. 
Not unamazed, she thus in answer spake : — 

" What may this mean ? Language of Man pronounced 
By tongue of brute, and human sense expressed ! 
The first at least of these I thought denied 
To beasts, whom God on their creation-day 
Created mute to all articulate sound ; 
The latter I demur, for in their looks 
Much reason, and in their actions, oft appears. 
Thee, Serpent, subtlest beast of all the field 560 

I knew, but not with human voice endued ; 
Redouble, then, this miracle, and say, 
How cam'st thou speakable of mute, and how 
To me so friendly grown above the rest 
Of brutal kind that daily are in sight : 
Say, for such wonder claims attention due." 

To whom the guileful Tempter thus replied : — 
" Empress of this fair World, resplendent Eve ! 
Easy to me it is to tell thee all 

What thou command'st, and right thou shouldst be obeyed. 570 
I was at first as other beasts that graze 
The trodden herb, of abject thoughts and low, 
As was my food, nor aught but food discerned 
Or sex, and apprehended nothing high : 
Till on a day, roving the field, I chanced 
A goodly tree far distant to behold, 
Loaden with fruit of fairest colours mixed, 
Ruddy and gold. I nearer drew to gaze; 
When from the boughs a savoury odour blown, 
Grateful to appetite, more pleased my sense 580 

Than smell of sweetest fennel, or the teats 



Book ix.] PARADISE LOST. 207 



Of ewe or goat dropping with milk at even, 

Unsucked of lamb or kid, that tend their play. 

To satisfy the sharp desire I had 

Of tasting those fair apples, I resolved 

Not to defer ; hunger and thirst at once. 

Powerful persuaders, quickened at the scent 

Of that alluring fruit, urged me so keen. 

About the mossy trunk I wound me soon ; 

For, high from ground, the branches would require 590 

Thy utmost reach, or Adam's : round the tree 

All other beasts that saw, with like desire 

Longing and envying stood, but could not reach. 

Amid the tree now got, where plenty hung 

Tempting so nigh, to pluck and eat my fill 

I spared not ; for such pleasure till that hour 

At feed or fountain never had I found. 

Sated at length, ere long I might perceive 

Strange alteration in me, to degree 

Of Reason in my inward powers, and Speech 600 

Wanted not long, though to this shape retained. 

Thenceforth to speculations high or deep 

I turned my thoughts, and with capacious mind 

Considered all things visible in Heaven, 

Or Earth, or Middle, all things fair and good. 

But all that fair and good in thy divine 

Semblance, and in thy beauty's heavenly ray, 

United I beheld — no fair to thine 

Equivalent or second ; which compelled 

Me thus, though importune perhaps, to come 610 

And gaze, and worship thee of right declared 

Sovran of creatures, universal Dame ! " 

So talked the* spirited sly Snake ; and Eve, 
Yet more amazed, unwary thus replied : — 

" Serpent, thy overpraising leaves in doubt 
The virtue of that fruit, in thee first proved. 
But say, where grows the tree? from hence how far? 
For many are the trees of God that grow 
In Paradise, and various, yet unknown 

To us ; in such abundance lies our choice 620 

As leaves a greater store of fruit untouched, 
Still hanging incorruptible, till men 
Grow up to their provision, and more hands 
Help to disburden Nature of her bearth." 

To whom the wily Adder, blithe and glad : — 
" Empress, the way is ready, and not long — 
Beyond a row of myrtles, on a flat. 
Fast by a fountain, one small thicket past 



J 



208 PARADISE LOST. [Book ix. 



Of blowing myrrh and balm. If thou accept 

My conduct, I can bring thee thither soon." 630 

" Lead, then," said Eve. He, leading, swiftly rolled 
In tangles, and made intricate seem straight, 
To mischief swift. Hope elevates, and joy 
Brightens his crest. As when a wandering fire, 
Compact of unctuous vapour, which the night 
Condenses, and the cold environs round, 
Kindled through agitation to a flame 
(Which oft, they say, some evil spirit attends), 
Hovering and blazing with delusive light, 

Misleads the amazed night-wanderer from his way 640 

To bogs and mires, and oft through pond or pool, 
There swallowed up and lost, from succour far: 
So glistered the dire Snake, and into fraud 
Led Eve, our credulous mother, to the Tree 
Of Prohibition, root of all our woe ; 
Which when she saw, thus to her guide she spake : — 

" Serpent, we might have spared our coming hither, 
Fruitless to me, though fruit be here to excess, 
The credit of whose virtue rest with thee — 

Wondrous, indeed, if cause of such effects! 650 

But of this tree we may not taste nor touch ; 
God so commanded, and left that command 
Sole daughter of his voice : the rest, we live 
Law to ourselves ; our Reason is our Law." 

To whom the Tempter guilefully replied : — 
"Indeed! Hath God then said that of the fruit 
Of all these garden-trees ye shall not eat. 
Yet lords declared of all in Earth or Air?" 

To whom thus Eve, yet sinless : — "Of the fruit 
Of each tree in the garden we may eat ; 660 

But of the fruit of this fair tree, amidst 
The Garden, God hath said, ^Ye shall not eat 
Thereof, nor shall ye touch it, lest ye die.''" 

She scarce had said, though brief, when now more bold 
The Tempter, but, with show of zeal and love 
To Man, and indignation at his wrong. 
New part puts on, and, as to passion moved. 
Fluctuates disturbed, yet comely, and in act 
Raised, as of some great matter to begin. 
As when of old some orator renowned 67^ 

In Athens or free Rome, where eloquence 
Flourished, since mute, to some great cause addressed, 
Stood in himself collected, while each part. 
Motion, each act, won audience ere the tongue 
Sometimes in highth began, as no delay 



■ 



Book ix.] PARADISE LOST. 209 

Of preface brooking through his zeal of right : 
So standing, moving, or to highth upgrown, 
The Tempter, all impassioned, thus began : — 
"' O sacred, wise, and wisdom-giving Plant, 
Mother of science ! now I feel thy power 680 

Within me clear, not only to discern 
Things in their causes, but to trace the ways 
Of highest agents, deemed however wise. 
Queen of this Universe ! do not believe 
Those rigid threats of death. Ye shall not die. 
How should ye? By the fruit? it gives you life 
To knowledge. By the Threatener? look on me, 
Me who have touched and tasted, yet both live, 
And life more perfect have attained than Fate 
Meant me, by venturing higher than my lot. 690 

Shall that be shut to Man which to the Beast 
Is open? or will God incense his ire 
For such a petty trespass, and not praise 
Rather your dauntless virtue, whom the pain 
Of death denounced, whatever thing Death be, 
Deterred not from achieving what might lead 
To happier life, knowledge of Good and Evil? 
Of good, how just ! of evil — if what is evil 
Be real, why not known, since easier shunned? 
God, therefore, cannot hurt ye, and be just ; 700 

Not just, not God ; not feared then, nor obeyed : 
Your fear itself of death removes the fear. 
Why, then, was this forbid? Why but to awe, 
Why but to keep ye low and ignorant, 
His worshipers? He knows that in the day 
Ye eat thereof your eyes, that seem so clear, 
Yet are but dim, shall perfectly be then 
Opened and cleared, and ye shall be as Gods, 
Knowing both good and evil, as they know. 

That ye should be as Gods, since I as Man, 710 

Internal Man, is but proportion meet — 
I, of brute, human ; ye, of human, Gods. 
So ye shall die perhaps, by putting off 
Human, to put on Gods — death to be wished. 
Though threatened, which no worse than this can bring! 
And what are Gods, that Man may not become 
As they, participating godlike food? 
The Gods are first, and that advantage use 
On our belief, that all from them proceeds. 

I question it ; for this fair Earth I see, 720 

Warmed by the Sun, producing every kind ; 
Them nothing. If they all things, who enclosed 



PARADISE LOST. [Book ix. 



Knowledge of good and evil in this tree, 

That whoso eats thereof forthwith attains 

Wisdom without their leave? and wherein lies 

The offence, that Man should thus attain to know? 

What can your knowledge hurt him, or this tree 

Impart against his will, if all be his? 

Or is it envy? and can envy dwell 

In Heavenly breasts? These, these and many more 730 

Causes import your need of this fair fruit. 

Goddess humane, reach, then, and freely taste ! " 

He ended ; and his words, replete with guile. 
Into her heart too easy entrance won. 
Fixed on the fruit she gazed, which to behold 
Might tempt alone ; and in her ears the sound 
Yet rung of his persuasive words, impregned 
With reason, to her seeming, and with truth. 
Meanwhile the hour of noon drew on, and waked 
An eager appetite, raised by the smell 740 

So savoury of that fruit, which with desire. 
Inclinable now grown to touch or taste, 
Solicited her longing eye ; yet firs't. 
Pausing a while, thus to herself she mused : — 

'• Great are thy virtues, doubtless, best of fruits. 
Though kept from Man, and worthy to be admired. 
Whose taste, too long forborne, at first assay 
Gave elocution to the mute, and taught 
The tongue not made for speech to speak thy praise. 
Thy praise he also who forbids thy use 750 

Conceals not from us, naming thee the Tree 
Of Knowledge, knowledge both of good and evil ; 
Forbids us then to taste. But his forbidding 
Commends thee more, while it infers the good 
By thee communicated, and our want ; 
For good unknown sure is not had, or, had 
And yet unknown, is as not had at all. 
In plain, then, what forbids he but to know? 
Forbids us good, forbids us to be wise! 

Such prohibitions bind not. But, if Death 760 

Bind us with after-bands, what profits then 
Our inward freedom! In the day we eat 
Of this fair fruit, our doom is we shall die! 
Hov/ dies the Serpent? He hath eaten, and lives. 
And knows, and speaks, and reasons, and discerns. 
Irrational till then. For us alone 
Was death invented? or to us denied 
This intellectual food, for beasts reserved? 
For beasts it seems; yet that one beast which first 



"Book IX.] PARADISE LOST. 211 



Hath tasted envies not, but brings with joy 770 

The good befallen him, author unsuspect. 

Friendly to Man, far from deceit or guile. 

What fear I, then ? rather, what know to fear 

Under this ignorance of good and evil. 

Of God or Death, of law or penalty.'' 

Here grows the cure of all, this fruit divine, 

Fair to the eye, inviting to the taste, 

Of virtue to make wise. What hinders, then, 

To reach, and feed at once both body and mind ? " 

So saying, her rash hand in evil hour 780 

Forth-reaching to the fruit, she plucked, she eat. 
Earth felt the wound, and Nature from her seat, 
Sighing through all her works, gave signs of woe 
That all was lost. Back to the thicket slunk 
The guilty Serpent, and well might, for Eve, 
Intent now only on her taste, naught else 
Regarded ; such delight till then, as seemed. 
In fmit she never tasted, whether true. 
Or fancied so through expectation high 

Of knowledge ; nor was Godhead from her thought. 790 

Greedily she ingorged without restraint. 
And knew not eating death. Satiate at length, 
And hightened as with wine, jocund and boon, 
Thus to herself she pleasingly began : — 

" O sovran, virtuous, precious of all trees 
In Paradise ! of operation blest 
To sapience, hitherto obscured, infamed. 
And thy fair fruit let hang, as to no end 
Created ! but henceforth my early care, 

Not without song, each morning, and due praise, 800 

Shall tend thee, and the fertile burden ease 
Of thy full branches, oflfered free to all ; 
Till, dieted by thee, I grow mature 
In knowledge, as the Gods who all things know. 
Though others envy what they cannot give — 
For, had the gift been theirs, it had not here 
Thus grown ! Experience, next to thee I owe. 
Best guide : not following thee, I had remained 
In ignorance ; thou open'st W^isdom's way. 

And giv'st access, though secret she retire. 810 

And I perhaps am secret : Heaven is high — 
High, and remote to see from thence* distinct 
Each thing on Earth ; and other care perhaps 
May have diverted from continual watch 
Our great Forbidder, safe with all his spies 
About him. But to Adam in what sort 



212 PARADISE LOST. [Book ix. 



Shall I appear ? Shall I to him make known 

As yet my change, and give him to partake 

Full happiness with me, or rather not, 

But keep the odds of knowledge in my power 820 

Without copartner ? so to add what wants 

In female sex, the more to draw his love. 

And render me more equal, and perhaps — 

A thing not undesirable — sometime 

Superior; for, inferior, who is free? 

This may be well ; but what if God have seen, 

And death ensue ? Then I shall be no more ; 

And Adam, wedded to another Eve, 

Shall live with her enjoying, I extinct ! 

A death to think ! Confirmed, then, I resolve 830 

Adam shall share with me in bliss or woe. 

So dear I love him that with him all deaths 

I could endure, without him live no life." 

So saying, from the tree her step she turned. 
But first low reverence done, as to the Power 
That dwelt within, whose presence had infused 
Into the plant sciential sap, derived 
From nectar, drink of Gods. Adam the while, 
Waiting desirous her return, had wove 

Of choicest flowers a garland, to adorn 840 

Her tresses, and her rural labours crown. 
As reapers oft are wont their harvest-queen. 
Great joy he promised to his thoughts, and new 
Solace in her return, so long delayed ; 
Yet oft his heart, divine of something ill, 
Misgave him. He the faltering measure felt, 
And forth to meet her went, the way she took 
That morn when first they parted. By the Tree 
Of Knowledge he must pass ; there he her met. 
Scarce from the tree returning ; in her hand 850 

A bough of fairest fruit, that downy smiled. 
New gathered, and ambrosial smell diffused. 
To him she hasted ; in her face excuse 
Came prologue, and apology to prompt. 
Which, with bland words at will, she thus addressed : — 

"Hast thou not wondered, Adam, at my stay? 
Thee I have missed. 
Thy presence — agony of love till now 
Not felt, nor shall be twice ; for never more 

Mean I to try, what rash untried I sought, 860 

The pain of absence from thy sight. But strange 
Hath been the cause, and wonderful to hear. 
This tree is not, as we are told, a tree 



Book ix.] PARADISE LOST. 213 

Of danger tasted, nor to evil unknown 

Opening the way, but of divine effect 

To open eyes, and make them Gods who taste ; 

And hath been tasted such. The Serpent wdse, 

Or not restrained as we, or not obeying. 

Hath eaten of the fruit, and is become 

Not dead, as we are threatened, but thenceforth 870 

Endued with human voice and human sense. 

Reasoning to admiration, and with me 

Persuasively hath so prevailed that I 

Have also tasted, and have also found 

The effects to correspond — opener mine eyes, 

Dim erst, dilated spirits, ampler heart. 

And growing up to Godhead ; which for thee 

Chiefly I sought, without thee can despise. 

For bliss, as thou hast part, to me is bliss ; 

Tedious, unshared with thee, and odious soon. 880 

Thou, therefore, also taste, that equal lot 

May join us, equal joy, as equal love ; 

Lest, thou not tasting, different degree 

Disjoin us, and I then too late renounce 

Deity for thee, when fate will not permit." 

Thus Eve with countenance blithe her story told ; 
But in her cheek distemper flushing glowed. 
On the other side, Adam, soon as he heard 
The fatal trespass done by Eve, amazed, 

Astonied stood and blank, while horror chill 890 

Ran through his veins, and all his joints relaxed. 
From his slack hand the garland wreathed for Eve 
Down dropt, and all the faded roses shed. 
Speechless he stood and pale, till thus at length 
First to himself he inward silence broke : — 

" O fairest of Creation, last and best 
Of all God's works, creature in whom excelled 
Whatever can to sight or thought be formed, 
Holy, divine, good, amiable, or sweet! 

How art thou lost! how on a sudden lost, 900 

Defaced, deflowered, and now to death devote! 
Rather, how hast thou yielded to transgress 
The strict forbiddance, how to violate 
The sacred fruit forbidden? Some cursed fraud 
Of enemy hath beguiled thee, yet unknown. 
And me with thee hath ruined; for with thee 
Certain my resolution is to die. 
How can I live without thee ? how forgo 
Thy sweet converse, and love so dearly joined, 
To live again in these wild woods forlorn? 910 



214 PARADISE LOST. [Book ix. 



Should God create another Eve, and I 
Another rib afford, yet loss of thee 
Would never from my heart. No, no ! I feel 
The link of nature draw me : flesh of flesh, 
Bone of my bone thou art, and from thy state 
Mine never shall be parted, bliss or woe." 

So having said, as one from sad dismay 
Recomforted, and, after thoughts disturbed. 
Submitting to what seemed remediless, 
Thus in calm mood his words to Eve he turned: — 920 

"Bold deed thou hast presumed, adventurous Eve, 
And peril great provoked, who thus hast dared 
Had it been only coveting to eye 
That sacred food, sacred to abstinence ; 
Much more to taste it, under ban to touch. 
But past who can recall, or done undo? 
Not God Omnipotent, nor Fate! Yet so 
Perhaps thou shalt not die ; perhaps the fact 
Is not so heinous now — foretasted fmit, 

Profaned first by the Serpent, by him first 930 

Made common and unhallowed ere our taste, 
Nor yet on him found deadly. He yet lives — 
Lives, as thou saidst, and gains to live, as Man, 
Higher degree of life : inducement strong 
To us, as likely, tasting, to attain 
Proportional ascent ; which cannot be 
But to be Gods, or Angels, demi-gods. 
Nor can I think that God, Creator wise, 
Though threatening, will in earnest so destroy 
Us, his prime creatures, dignified so high, 940 

Set over all his works ; which, in our fall. 
For us created, needs with us must fail. 
Dependent made. So God shall uncreate. 
Be frustrate, do, undo, and labour lose — 
Not well conceived of God ; who, though his power 
Creation could repeat, yet would be loth 
Us to abolish, lest the Adversary 
Triumph and say: 'Fickle their state whom God 
Most favours ; who can please him long ? Me first 
He ruined, now Mankind; whom will he next?' — 950 

Matter of scorn not to be given the Foe. 
However, I with thee have fixed my lot, 
Certain to undergo like doom. If death 
Consort with thee, death is to me as life ; 
So forcible within my heart I feel 
The bond of Nature draw me to my own — 
My own in thee ; for what thou art is mine. 



Book IX.] PARADISE LOST. 215 

Our state cannot be severed; we are one, 
One flesh ; to lose thee were to lose myself." 

So Adam ; and thus Eve to him replied : — 960 

'' O glorious trial of exceeding love, 
Illustrious evidence, example high! 
Engaging me to emulate ; but, short 
Of thy perfection, how shall I attain, 
Adam? from whose dear side I boast me sprung, 
And gladly of our union hear thee speak, 
One heart, one soul in both ; whereof good proof 
This day affords, declaring thee resolved, 
Rather than death, or aught than death more dread. 
Shall separate us, linked in love so dear, 970 

To undergo with me one guilt, one crime. 
If any be, of tasting this fair fruit ; 
Whose virtue (for of good still good proceeds, 
Direct, or by occasion) hath presented 
This happy trial of thy love, which else 
So eminently never had been known. 
Were it I thought death menaced would ensue 
This my attempt, I would sustain alone 
The worst, and not persuade thee — rather die 
Deserted than oblige thee with a fact 980 

Pernicious to thy peace, chiefly assured 
Remarkably so late of thy so true, 
So faithful, love unequalled. But I feel 
Far otherwise the event — not death, but life 
Augmented, opened eyes, new hopes, new joys. 
Taste so divine that what of sweet before 
Hath touched my sense flat seems to this and harsh. 
On my experience, Adam, freely taste, 
And fear of death deliver to the winds.'' 

So saying, she embraced him, and for joy 990 

Tenderly wept, much won that he his love 
Had so ennobled as of choice to incur 
Divine displeasure for her sake, or death. 
In recompense (for such compliance bad 
Such recompense best merits), from the bough 
She gave him of that fair enticing fruit 
With liberal hand. He scrupled not to eat, 
Against his better knowledge, not deceived, 
But fondly overcome with female charm. 

Earth trembled from her entrails, as again 1000 

In pangs, and Nature gave a second groan ; 
Sky loured, and, muttering thunder, some sad drops 
Wept at completing of the mortal Sin 
Original ; while Adam took no thought. 
Eating his fill, nor Eve to iterate 



2i6 PARADISE LOST. [Book ix. 



Her former trespass feared, the more to soothe 

Him with her loved society ; that now, 

As with new wine intoxicated both, 

They swim in mirth, and fancy that they feel 

Divinity within them breeding wings loio 

Wherewith to scorn the Earth. But that false fruit 

Far other operation first displayed, 

Carnal desire inflaming. He on Eve 

Began to cast lascivious eyes ; she him 

As wantonly repaid ; in lust they burn, 

Till Adam thus 'gan Eve to dalliance move : — 

"Eve, now I see thou art exact of taste 
And elegant — of sapience no small part ; 
Since to each meaning savour we apply. 

And palate call judicious. I the praise 1020 

Yield thee ; so well this day thou hast purveyed. 
Much pleasure we have lost, while we abstained 
From this delightful fruit, nor known till now 
True relish, tasting. If such pleasure be 
In things to us forbidden, it might be wished 
For this one tree had been forbidden ten. 
But come ; so well refreshed, now let us play, 
As meet is, after such delicious fare ; 
For never did thy beauty, since the day 

I saw thee first and wedded thee, adorned 1030 

With all perfections, so inflame my sense 
With ardour to enjoy thee, fairer now 
Than ever — bounty of this virtuous tree!" 

So said he, and forbore not glance or toy 
Of amorous intent, well understood 
Of Eve, whose eye darted contagious fire. 
Her hand he seized, and to a shady bank. 
Thick overhead with verdant roof embowered, 
He led her, nothing loth ; flowers were the couch, 
Pansies, and violets, and asphodel, 1040 

And hyacinth — Earth's freshest, softest lap. 
There they their fill of love and love's disport 
Took largely, of their mutual guilt the seal. 
The solace of their sin, till dewy sleep 
Oppressed them, wearied with their amorous play. 

Soon as the force of that fallacious fruit. 
That with exhilarating vapour bland 
About their spirits had played, and inmost powers 
Made err, was now exhaled, and grosser sleep. 
Bred of unkindly fumes, with conscious dreams 105c 

Encumbered, now had left them, up they rose 
As from unrest, and, each the other viewing, 
Soon found their eyes how opened, and their minds 



Book ix.] PARADISE LOST. 217 



How darkened. Innocence, that as a veil 

Had shadowed them from knowing ill, was gone ; 

Just confidence, and native righteousness. 

And honour, from about them, naked left 

To guilty Shame : he covered, but his robe 

Uncovered more. So rose the Danite strong, 

Herculean Samson, from the harlot-lap 1060 

Of Philistean Dalilah, and waked 

Shorn of his strength ; they destitute and bare 

Of all their virtue. Silent, and in face 

Confounded, long they sat, as strucken mute ; 

Till Adam, though not less than Eve abashed. 

At length gave utterance to these words constrained : — 

''• O Eve, in evil hour thou didst give ear 
To that false Worm, of whomsoever taught 
To counterfeit Man's voice — true in our fall. 

False in our promised rising ; since our eyes 1070 

Opened we find indeed, and find we know 
Both good and evil, good lost and evil got : 
Bad fruit of knowledge, if this be to know. 
Which leaves us naked thus, of honour void, 
Of innocence, of faith, of purity, 
Our wonted ornaments now soiled and stained, 
And in our faces evident the signs 
Of foul concupiscence ; whence evil store. 
Even shame, the last of evils ; of the first 

Be sure then. How shall I behold the face 1080 

Henceforth of God or Angel, erst with joy 
And rapture so oft beheld? Those Heavenly Shapes 
Will dazzle now this earthly with their blaze 
Insufferably bright. Oh, might I here 
In solitude live savage, in some glade 
Obscured, where highest woods, impenetrable 
To star or sunlight, spread their umbrage broad, 
And brown as evening ! Cover me, ye pines ! 
Ye cedars, with innumerable boughs 

Hide me, where I may never see them more! 1090 

But let us now, as in bad plight, devise 
What best may, for the present, serve to hide 
The parts of each from other that seem most 
To shame obnoxious, and unseemliest seen — 
Some tree, whose broad smooth leaves, together sewed. 
And girded on our loins, may cover round 
Those middle parts, that this new comer. Shame, 
There sit not, and reproach us as unclean.'' 

So counselled he, and both together went 
Into the thickest wood. There soon they chose iioo 

The fig-tree — not that kind for fiiiit renowned, 



PARADISE LOST. [Book ix. 



But such as, at this day, to Indians known, 

In Malabar or Decan spreads her arms 

Branching so broad and long that in the ground 

The bended twigs take root, and daughters grow 

About the mother tree, a pillared shade 

High overarched, and echoing walks between : 

There oft the Indian herdsman, shunning heat, 

Shelters in cool, and tends his pasturing herds 

At loop-holes cut through thickest shade. Those leaves mo 

They gathered, broad as Amazonian targe, 

And with what skill they had together sewed, 

To gird their waist — vain covering, if to hide 

Their guilt and dreaded shame! O how unlike 

To that first naked glory! Such of late 

Columbus found the American, so girt 

With feathered cincture, naked else and wild. 

Among the trees on isles and woody shores. 

Thus fenced, and, as they thought, their shame in part 

Covered, but not at rest or ease of mind, 1120 

They sat them down to weep. Nor only tears 

Rained at their eyes, but high winds worse within 

Began to rise, high passions — anger, hate. 

Mistrust, suspicion, discord — and shook sore 

Their inward state of mind, calm region once 

And full of peace, now tost and turbulent : 

For Understanding ruled not, and the Will 

Heard not her lore, both in subjection now 

To sensual Appetite, who, from beneath 

Usurping over sovran Reason, claimed 1130 

Superior sway. From thus distempered breast 

Adam, estranged in look and altered style. 

Speech intermitted thus to Eve renewed : — 

" Would thou hadst hearkened to my words, and stayed 
With me, as I besought thee, when that strange 
Desire of wandering, this unhappy morn, 
I know not whence possessed thee! We had then 
Remained still happy — not, as now, despoiled 
Of all our good, shamed, naked, miserable! 

Let none henceforth seek needless cause to approve 1140 

The faith they owe ; when earnestly they seek 
Such proof, conclude they then begin to fail.^' 

To whom, soon moved with touch of blame, thus Eve : — 
"What words have passed thy lips, Adam severe? 
Imput'st thou that to my default, or will 
Of wandering, as thou calPst it, which who knows 
But might as ill have happened thou being by. 
Or to thyself perhaps? Hadst thou been there. 
Or here the attempt, thou couldst not have discerned 



Book IX.] PARADISE LOST. 219 

Fraud in the Serpent, speaking as he spake; 11 50 

No ground of enmity between us known 

Why he should mean me ill or seek to harm. 

Was I to have never parted from thy side? 

As good have grown there still, a lifeless rib. 

Being as I am, why didst not thou, the head, 

Command me absolutely not to go. 

Going into such danger, as thou saidst? 

Too facile then, thou didst not much gainsay, 

Nay, didst permit, approve, and fair dismiss. 

Hadst thou been firm and fixed in thy dissent, 11 60 

Neither had I transgressed, nor thou with me." 

To wdiom, then first incensed, Adam replied : — 
" Is this the love, is this the recompense 
Of mine to thee, ingrateful Eve, expressed 
Immutable when thou wert lost, not I — 
Who might have lived, and joyed immortal bliss, 
Yet willingly chose rather death with thee? 
And am I now upbraided as the cause 
Of thy transgressing? not enough severe, 

It seems, in thy restraint! What could I more? I170 

I warned thee, I admonished thee, foretold 
The danger, and the lurking enemy 
That lay in wait; beyond this had been force, 
And force upon free will hath here no place. 
But confidence then bore thee on, secure 
Either to meet no danger, or to find 
Matter of glorious trial ; and perhaps 
I also erred in overmuch admiring 
What seemed in thee so perfect that I thought 
No evil durst attempt thee. But I rue 11 80 

That error now, which is become my crime. 
And thou the accuser. Thus it shall befall 
Him who, to worth in woman overtrusting. 
Lets her will rule : restraint she will not brook ; 
And, left to herself, if evil thence ensue, 
She first his weak indulgence will accuse." 

Thus they in mutual accusation spent 
The fruitless hours, but neither self-condemning; 
And of their vain contest appeared no end. 



THE END OF THE NINTH BOOK. 



PARADISE LOST. 



BOOK X. 



THE ARGUMENT. 

Man's transgression known, the guardian Angels forsake Paradise, and return up to 
Heaven to approve their vigilance, and are approved; God declaring that the entrance of 
Satan could not be by them prevented. He sends his Son to judge the transgressors; who 
descends, and gives sentence accordingly; then, in pity, clothes them both, and reascends. 
Sin and Death, sitting till then at the gates of Hell, by wondrous sympathy feeling the 
success of Satan in this new World, and the sin by Man there committed, resolve to sit no 
longer confined in Hell, but to follow Satan, their sire, up to the place of Man: to make the 
way easier from Hell to this World to and fro, they pave a broad highway or bridge over 
Chaos, according to the track that Satan first made; then, preparing for Earth, they meet 
him, proud of his success, returning to Hell; their mutual gratulation. Satan arrives at 
Pandemonium; in full assembly relates, with boasting, his success against Man; instead of 
applause is entertained with a general hiss by all his audience, transformed, with himself also, 
suddenly into Serpents, according to his doom given in Paradise; then, deluded with a show 
of the Forbidden Tree springing up before them, they, greedily reaching to take of the fruit, 
chew dust and bitter ashes. The proceedings of Sin and Death: God foretells the final 
victory of his Son over them, and the renewing of all things; but, for the present, commands 
his Angels to make several alterations in the Heavens and Elements. Adam, more and more 
perceiving his fallen condition, heavily bewails, rejects the condolement of Eve; she persists, 
and at length appeases him: then, to evade the curse likely to fall on their offspring, pro- 
poses to Adam violent ways; which he approves not, but, conceiving better hope, puts her 
in mind of the late promise made them, that her seed should be revenged on the Serpent, and 
exhorts her, with him, to seek peace of the offended Deity by repentance and supplication. 

MEANWHILE the heinous and despiteful act 
Of Satan done in Paradise, and how 
He, in the Serpent, had perverted Eve, 
Her husband she, to taste the fatal fruit, 
Was known in Heaven ; for what can scape the eye 
Of God all-seeing, or deceive his heart 
Omniscient? who, in all things wise and just, 
Hindered not Satan to attempt the mind 
Of Man, with strength entire and free will armed 
Complete to have discovered and repulsed lo 

Whatever wiles of foe or seeming friend. 
For still they knew, and ought to have still remembered, 

220 



BooKX.] PARADISE LOST. 221 



The high injunction not to taste that fmit, 

Whoever tempted ; which they not obeying 

Incurred (what could they less?) the penalty, 

And, manifold in sin, deserved to fall. 

Up into Heaven from Paradise in haste 

The Angelic guards ascended, mute and sad 

For Man ; for of his state by this they knew, 

Much wondering how the subtle Fiend had stolen 20 

Entrance unseen. Soon as the unwelcome news 

From Earth arrived at Heaven-gate, displeased 

All were who heard ; dim sadness did not spare 

That time celestial visages, yet, mixed 

With pity, violated not their bliss. 

About the new-arrived, in multitudes, 

The Ethereal people ran, to hear and know 

How all befell. They toward the throne supreme, 

Accountable, made haste, to make appear. 

With righteous plea, their utmost vigilance, 30 

And easily approved ; when the Most High, 

Eternal Father, from his secret cloud 

Amidst, in thunder uttered thus his voice : — 

" Assembled Angels, and ye Powers returned 
From unsuccessful charge, be not dismayed 
Nor troubled at these tidings from the Earth, 
Which your sincerest care could not prevent, 
Foretold so lately what would come to pass, 
When first this Tempter crossed the gulf from Hell. 
I told ye then he should prevail, and speed 40 

On his bad errand — Man should be seduced, 
And flattered out of all, believing lies 

Against his Maker ; no decree of mine, • 

Concurring to necessitate his fall, 
Or touch with lightest moment of impulse 
His free will, to her own inclining left 
In even scale. But fallen he is ; and now 
What rests, but that the mortal sentence pass 
On his transgression, Death denounced that day? 
Which he presumes already vain and void, 50 

Because not yet inflicted, as he feared. 
By some immediate stroke, but soon shall find 
Forbearance no acquittance ere day end. 
Justice shall not return, as bounty, scorned. 
But whom send I to judge them? whom but thee, 
Vicegerent Son? To thee I have transferred 
All judgment, whether in Heaven, or Earth, or Hell. 
Easy it may be seen that I intend 
Mercy colleague with justice, sending thee, 



222 PARADISE LOST. [Book x, 



Man's friend, his Mediator, his designed 60 

Both ransom and Redeemer voluntary. 

And destined Man himself to judge Man fallen." 

So spake the Father ; and, unfolding bright 
Toward the right hand his glory, on the Son 
Blazed forth unclouded deity. He full 
Resplendent all his Father manifest 
Expressed, and thus divinely answered mild : — 

'' Father Eternal, thine is to decree ; 
Mine both in Heaven and Earth to do thy will 
Supreme, that thou in me, thy Son Beloved, 70 

May'st ever rest well pleased. I go to judge 
On Earth these thy transgressors ; but thou know'st, 
Whoever judged, the worst on me must light, 
When time shall be ; for so I undertook 
Before thee, and, not repenting, this obtain 
Of right, that I may mitigate their doom 
On me derived. Yet I shall temper so 
Justice with mercy as may illustrate most 
Them fully satisfied, and thee appease. 

Attendance none shall need, nor train, where none 80 

Are to behold the judgment but the judged, 
Those two ; the third best absent is condemned, 
Convict thy flight, and rebel to all law ; 
Conviction to the Serpent none belongs." 

Thus saying, from his radiant seat he rose 
Of high collateral glory. Him Thrones and Powers, 
Princedoms, and Dominations ministrant. 
Accompanied to Heaven-gate, from whence 
Eden and all the coast in prospect lay. 

Down he descended straight ; the speed of Gods 90 

Time counts not, though with swiftest minutes winged. 

Now was the Sun in western cadence low 
From noon, and gentle airs due at their hour 
To fan the Earth now waked, and usher in 
The evening cool, when he, from wrath more cool, 
Came, the mild judge and intercessor both. 
To sentence Man. The voice of God they heard 
Now walking in the Garden, by soft Avinds 
Brought to their ears, while day declined ; they heard. 
And from his presence hid themselves among 100 

The thickest trees, both man and wife, till God, 
Approaching, thus to Adam called aloud : — 

"Where art thou, Adam, wont with joy to meet 
My coming, seen far off? I miss thee here, 
Not pleased, thus entertained with solitude, 
Where obvious duty erewhile appeared unsought. 



Book x.] PARADISE LOST. 223 

Or come I less conspicuous, or what change 
Absents thee, or what chance detains ? Come forth ! " 

He came, and with him Eve, more loth, though first 
To offend, discountenanced both, and discomposed. iic 

Love was not in their looks, either to God 
Or to each other, but apparent guilt. 
And shame, and perturbation, and despair, 
Anger, and obstinacy, and hate, and guile. 
Whence Adam," faltering long, thus answered brief: — 

" I heard thee in the Garden, and, of thy voice 
Afraid, being naked, hid myself." To whom 
The gracious Judge, without revile, replied : — 

" My voice thou oft hast heard, and hast not feared, 
But still rejoiced; how is it now become 120 

So dreadful to thee? That thou art naked who 
Hath told thee? Hast thou eaten of the tree 
Whereof I gave thee charge thou shouldst not eat?" 
To whom thus Adam, sore beset, replied : — 

"O Heaven! in evil strait this day I stand 
Before my Judge — either to undergo 
Myself the total crime, or to accuse 
My other self, the partner of my life. 
Whose failing, while her faith to me remains, 

I should conceal, and not expose to blame 130 

By my complaint. But strict necessity 
Subdues me, and calamitous constraint. 
Lest on my head both sin and punishment, 
However insupportable, be all 

Devolved ; though, should I hold my peace, yet thou 
Wouldst easily detect what I conceal. 
This Woman, whom thou mad'st to be my help, 
And gav'st me as thy perfect gift, so good, 
So fit, so acceptable, so divine. 

That from her hand I could suspect no ill, 140 

And what she did, whatever in itself. 
Her doing seemed to justify the deed — 
She gave me of the tree, and I did eat."" 
To whom the Sovran Presence thus replied : — 

'^ Was she thy God, that her thou didst obey 
Before his voice? or was she made thy guide, 
Superior, or but equal, that to her 
Thou didst resign thy manhood, and the place 
Wherein God set thee above her, made of thee 
And for thee, whose perfection far excelled 15° 

Hers in all real dignity? Adorned 
She was indeed, and lovely, to attract 
Thy love, not thy subjection; and her gifts 



224 PARADISE LOST. [Book x. 



Were such as under government well seemed — 
Unseemly to bear rule ; which was thy part 
And person, hadst thou known thyself aright." 

So having said, he thus to Eve in few : — 
"Say, Woman, what is this which thou hast done?" 

To whom sad Eve, with shame nigh overwhelmed, 
Confessing soon, yet not before her Judge i6o 

Bold or loquacious, thus abashed replied : — 
"The Serpent me beguiled, and I did eat." 

Which when the Lord God heard, without delay 
To judgment he proceeded on the accused 
Serpent, though brute, unable to transfer 
The guilt on him who made him instrument 
Of mischief, and polluted from the end 
Of his creation — justly then accursed, 
As vitiated in nature. More to know 

Concerned not Man (since he no further knew), 170 

Nor altered his offence ; yet God at last 
To Satan, first in sin, his doom applied. 
Though in mysterious terms, judged as then best ; 
And on the Serpent thus his curse let fall : — 

" Because thou hast done this, thou art accursed 
Above all cattle, each beast of the field ; 
Upon thy belly grovelling thou shalt go. 
And dust shalt eat all the days of thy life. 
Between thee and the Woman I will put 

Enmity, and between thine and her seed; 180 

Her seed shall bruise thy head, thou bruise his heel." 

So spake this oracle — then verified 
When Jesus, son of Mary, second Eve, 
Saw Satan fall like lightning down from Heaven, 
Prince of the Air ; then, rising from his grave. 
Spoiled Principalities and Powers, triumphed 
In open show, and, with ascension bright. 
Captivity led captive through the Air, 
The realm itself of Satan, long usurped. 

Whom he shall tread at last under our feet, 190 

Even he who now foretold his fatal bruise, 
And to the Woman thus his sentence turned : — 

" Thy sorrow I will greatly multiply 
By thy conception ; children thou shalt bring 
In sorrow forth, and to thy husband's will 
Thine shall submit ; he over thee shall rule." 

On Adam last thus judgment he pronounced : — 
" Because thou hast hearkened to the voice of thy wife, 
And eaten of the tree concerning which 
I charged thee, saying, Thoic shalt ?iot cat thereof^ 200 



Book x.] PARADISE LOST. 225 

Curs'd is the ground for thy sake ; thou in sorrow 
Shalt eat thereof all the days of thy life ; 
Thorns also and thistles it shall bring thee forth 
Unhid ; and thou shalt eat the herb of the field ; 
In the sweat of thy face thou shalt eat bread, 
Till thou return unto the ground ; for thou 
Out of the ground wast taken : know thy birth, 
Yox dust thou art, and shalt to dust return." 

So judged he Man, both Judge and Saviour sent, 
And the instant stroke of death, denounced that day, 210 

Removed far off; then, pitying how they stood 
Before him naked to the air, that now 
Must suffer change, disdained not to begin 
Thenceforth the form of servant to assume. 
As when he washed his servants' feet, so now, 
As father of his family, he clad 
Their nakedness with skins of beasts, or slain. 
Or, as the snake, with youthful coat repaid ; 
And thought not much to clothe his enemies. 
Nor he their outward only with the skins 220 

Of beasts, but inward nakedness, much more 
Opprobrious, with his robe of righteousness 
Arraying, covered from his Father's sight. 
To him with swift ascent he up returned. 
Into his blissful bosom reassumed 
In glory as of old ; to him appeased, 
All, though all-knowing, what had passed with Man 
Recounted, mixing intercession sweet. 

Meanwhile, ere thus was sinned and judged on Earth, 
Within the gates of Hell sat Sin and Death, 230 

In counterview within the gates, that now 
Stood open wide, belching outrageous flame 
Far into Chaos, since the Fiend passed through. 
Sin opening ; who thus now to Death began : — 

'' O Son, why sit we here, each other viewing 
Idly, while Satan, otu- great author, thrives 
In other worlds, and happier seat provides 
For us, his offspring dear ? It cannot be 
But that success attends him ; if mishap. 

Ere this he had returned, with fury driven 240 

By his avengers, since no place like this 
Can fi.t his punishment, or their revenge. 
Methinks I feel new strength within me rise, 
Wings growing, and dominion given me large 
Beyond this Deep — whatever draws me on, 
Or sympathy, or some connatural force, 
Powerful at greatest distance to unite 



226 PARADISE LOST. [Book x. 



With secret amity things of like kind 

By secretest conveyance. Thou, my shade 

Inseparable, must with me along; 250 

Y<dx Death from Sin no power can separate. 

But, lest the difficulty of passing back 

Stay his return perhaps over this gulf 

Impassable, impervious, let us try 

(Adventurous work, yet to thy power and mine 

Not unagreeable!) to found a path 

Over this main from Hell to that new World 

Where Satan now prevails — a monument 

Of merit high to all the infernal host. 

Easing their passage hence, for intercourse 260 

Or transmigration, as their lot shall lead. 

Nor can I miss the way, so strongly drawn 

By this new-felt attraction and instinct."' 

Whom thus the meagre Shadow answered soon : — 
" Go whither fate and inclination strong 
Leads thee ; I shall not lag behind, nor err 
The way, thou leading : such a scent I draw 
Of carnage, prey innumerable, and taste 
The savour of death from all things there that live. 
Nor shall I to the work thou enterprisest 270 

Be wanting, but afford thee equal aid." 

So saying, with delight he snuffed the smell 
Of mortal change on Earth. As when a flock 
Of ravenous fowl, though many a league remote, 
Against the day of battle, to a field 
Where armies lie encamped come flying, lured 
With scent of living carcases designed 
For death the following day in bloody fight; 
So scented the grim Feature, and upturned 

His nostril wide into the murky air, 280 

Sagacious of his quarry from so far. 
Then both, from out Hell-gates, into the waste 
Wide anarchy of Chaos, damp and dark, 
Flew diverse, and, with power (their power was great) 
Hovering upon the waters, what they met 
Solid or slimy, as in raging sea 
Tossed up and down, together crowded drove. 
From each side shoaling, toward the mouth of Hell; 
As when two polar winds, blowing adverse 

Upon the Cronian sea, together drive 290 

Mountains of ice, that stop the imagined way 
Beyond Petsora eastward to the rich 
Cathaian coast. The aggregated soil 
Death with his mace petrific, cold and dry, 



BOOKX.] PARADISE LOST. 227 



f 



As with a trident smoke, and fixed as firm 

As Delos, floating once ; the rest his look 

Bound with Gorgonian rigour not to move, 

And with asphaltic slime ; broad as the gate, 

Deep to the roots of Hell the gathered beach 

They fastened, and the mole immense wrought on 300 

Over the foaming Deep high-arched, a bridge 

Of length prodigious, joining to the wall 

Immovable of this now fenceless World, 

Forfeit to Death — from hence a passage broad, 

Smooth, easy, inoffensive, down to Hell. 

So, if great things to small may be compared, 

Xerxes, the liberty of Greece to yoke, 

From Susa, his Memnonian palace high, 

Came to the sea, and, over Hellespont 

Bridging his way, Europe with Asia joined, 310 

And scourged with many a stroke the indignant waves. 

Now had they brought the work by wondrous art 

Pontifical — a ridge of pendent rock 

Over the vexed Abyss, following the track 

Of Satan, to the self-same place where he 

First lighted from his wing and landed safe 

From out of Chaos — to the outside bare 

Of this round World. With pins of adamant 

And chains they made all fast, too fast they made 

And durable ; and now in little space 320 

The confines met of empyrean Heaven 

And of this World, and on the left hand Hell, 

With long reach interposed ; three several ways 

In sight to each of these three places led. 

And now their way to Earth they had descried. 

To Paradise first tending, when, behold 

Satan, in likeness of an Angel bright. 

Betwixt the Centaur and the Scorpion steering 

His zenith, while the Sun in Aries rose! 

Disguised he came ; but those his children dear 330 j 

Their parent soon discerned, though in disguise. 

He, after Eve seduced, unminded slunk 

Into the wood fast by, and, changing shape 

To observe the sequel, saw his guileful act 

By Eve, though all unweeting, seconded 

Upon her husband — saw their shame that sought 

Vain covertures ; but, when he saw descend 

The Son of God to judge them, terrified 

He fled, not hoping to escape, but shun 

The present — fearing, guilty, what his wrath 340 

Might suddenly inflict; that past, returned 



!28 PARADISE LOST. [Book x. 



By night, and, listening where the liapless pair 

Sat in their sad discourse and various plaint. 

Thence gathered his own doom ; which understood 

Not instant, but of future time, with joy 

And tidings fraught, to Hell he now returned. 

And at the brink of Chaos, near the foot 

Of this new wondrous pontifice, unhoped 

Met whc^ to meet him came, his oifspring dear. 

Great joy was at their meeting, and at sight 350 

Of that stupendious bridge his joy increased. 

Long he admiring stood, till Sin, his fair 

Enchanting daughter, thus the silence broke : — 

" O Parent, these are thy magnific d^eds. 
Thy trophies ! which thou view^st as not thine own ; 
Thou art their author and prime architect. 
For I no sooner in my heart divined 
(My heart, which by a secret harmony 
Still moves with thine, joined in connexion sweet) 
That thou on Earth hadst prospered, which thy looks 360 

Now also evidence, but straight I felt — 
Though distant from thee worlds betv(^een, yet felt — 
That I must after thee with this thy son ; 
Such fatal consequence unites us three. 
Hell could no longer hold us in her bounds. 
Nor this unvoyageable gulf obscure 
Detain from following thy illustrious track. 
Thou hast achieved our liberty, confined 
Within Hell-gates till- now ; thou us empowered 
To fortify thus far, and overlay 370 

With this portentous bVidge the dark Abyss. 
Thine now is all this World ; thy virtue hath won 
What thy hands builded not ; thy wisdom gained, 
With odds, what war hath lost, and fully avenged 
Our foil in Heaven. Here thou shalt monarch reign, 
There didst not ; there let him still victor sway, 
As battle hath adjudged, from this new World 
Retiring, by his own doom alienated, 
And henceforth monarchy with thee divide 

Of all things, parted by the empyreal bounds, 380 

His quadrature, from thy orbicular World, 
Or try thee now more dangerous to his throne." 

Whom thus the Prince of Darkness answered glad : — 
" Fair daughter, and thou, son and grandchild both, 
High proof ye now have given to be the race 
Of Satan (for I glory in the name, 
Antagonist of Heaven's Almighty King), 
Amply have merited of me, of all 



Book x.] PARADISE LOST. 229 



The Infernal Empire, that so near Heaven's door 

Triumphal with triumphal act have met, 39° 

Mine with this glorious work, and made one realm 

Hell and this World — one realm, one continent 

Of easy thoroughfare. Therefore, while I 

Descend through Darkness, on your road with ease, 

To my associate Powers, them to acquaint 

With these successes, and with them rejoice, 

You two this way, among these numerous orbs, 

All yours, right down to Paradise descend; 

There dwell, and reign in bliss; thence on the Earth 

Dominion exercise and in the air, 4oo 

Chiefly on Man, sole lord of all declared ; 

Him first make sure your thrall, and lastly kill. 

My substitutes I send ye, and create _ 

Plenipotent on Earth, of matchless might 

Issuing from me. On your joint vigour now 

My hold of this new kingdom • all depends. 

Through Sin to Death exposed by my exploit. 

If your joint power prevail, the affairs of Hell 

No detriment need fear"; go, and be strong.'' 

So saying, he dismissed them ; they with speed 410 

Their course through thickest constellations held, 
Spreading their bane ; the blasted stars look wan, 
And planets, planet-strook, real eclipse 
Then suffered. The other way Satan went down 
The causey to Hell-gate; on either side 
Disparted Chaos overbuilt exclaimed. 
And with rebounding surge the bars assailed. 
That scorned his indignation. Through the gate, 
Wide open and unguarded, Satan passed. 

And all about found desolate ; for those 420 

Appointed to sit there had left their charge, 
Flown to the upper World ; the rest were all 
Far to the inland retired, about the walls 
Of Pandemonium, city and proud seat 
Of Lucifer, so by allusion called 
Of that bright star to Satan paragoned. 
There kept their watch the legions, while the Grand 
In council sat, solicitous what chance 
Might intercept their Emperor sent; so he 

Departing gave command, and they observed. 43° 

As when the Tartar from his Russian foe. 
By Astracan, over the snowy plains. 
Retires, or Bactrian Sophi, from the horns 
Of Turkish crescent, leaves all waste beyond 
The realm of Aladule, in his retreat 



230 PARADISE LOST. [Book.x. 

To Tauris or Casbeen ; so these, the late 

Heaven-banished host, left desert utmost Hell 

iMany a dark league, reduced in careful watch 

Round their metropolis, and now expecting 

Each hour their great Adventurer from the search 440 

Of foreign worlds. He through the midst unmarked, 

In show plebeian Angel militant 

Of lowest order, passed, and, from the door 

Of that Plutonian hall, invisible 

Ascended his high throne, which, under state 

Of richest texture spread, at the upper end 

Was placed in regal lustre. Down a while 

He sat, and round about him saw, unseen. 

At last, as from a cloud, his fulgent head 

And shape star-bright appeared, or brighter, clad 450 

With what permissive glory since his fall 

Was left him, or false glitter. All amazed 

At that so sudden blaze, the Stygian throng 

Bent their aspect, and whom they wished beheld. 

Their mighty Chief returned : loud was the acclaim. 

Forth rushed in haste the great consulting Peers, 

Raised from their dark Divan, and with like joy 

Congratulant approached him, who with hand 

Silence, and with these words attention, won : — 

"Thrones, Dominations, Princedoms, Virtues, Powers! — 460 
For in possession such, not only of right, 
I call ye, and declare ye now, returned. 
Successful beyond hope, to lead ye forth 
Triumphant out of this infernal pit 
Abominable, accursed, th€ house of woe, 
And dungeon of our tyrant! Now possess. 
As lords, a spacious World, to our native Heaven 
Little inferior, by my adventure hard 
With peril great achieved. Long were to tell 

What I have done, what suifered, with what pain 470 

Voyaged the unreal, vast, unbounded Deep 
Of horrible confusion — over which 
By Sin and Death a broad way now is paved, 
To expedite your glorious march ; but I 
Toiled out my uncouth passage, forced to ride 
The untractable Abyss, plunged in the womb 
Of unoriginal Night and Chaos wild. 
That, jealous of their secrets, fiercely opposed 
My journey strange, with clamorous uproar 

Protesting Fate supreme ; thence how I found 480 

The new-created World, which fame in Heaven 
Long had foretold, a fabric wonderful, 



Of absolute perfection ; therein Man 

Placed in a paradise, by our exile 

Made happy. Him by fraud I have seduced 

From his Creator, and, the more to increase 

Your wonder, with an apple! He, thereat 

Offended— worth your laughter! — hath given up 

Both his beloved Man and all his World 

To Sin and Death a prey, and so to us, 49° 

Without our hazard, labour, or alarm, 

To range in, and to dwell, and over Man 

To rule, as over all he should have ruled. 

True is, me also he hath judged; or rather 

Me not, but the brute Serpent, in whose shape . 

Man I deceived. That which to me belongs 

Is enmity, which he will put between 

Me and Mankind: I am to bruise his heel; 

His seed — when is not set — shall bruise my head! 

A world who would not purchase with a bruise, 500 

Or much more grievous pain? Ye have the account 

Of my performance ; what remains, ye Gods, 

But up and enter now into full bliss?" 

So having said, a while he stood, expecting 
Their universal shout and high applause 

To fill his ear; when, contrary, he hears. 

On all sides, from innumerable tongues 

A dismal universal hiss, the sound 

Of public scorn. He wondered, but not long 

Had leisure, wondering at himself now more. 5^° 

His visage drawn he felt to sharp and spare. 

His arms clung to his ribs, his legs entwining 

Each other, till, supplanted, down he ifell, 

A monstrous serpent on his belly prone. 

Reluctant, but in vain ; a greater power 

Now ruled him, punished in the shape he sinned. 

According to his doom. He would have spoke. 

But hiss for hiss returned with forked tongue 

To forked tongue; for now were all transformed 

Alike, to serpents all, as accessories 5^0 

To his bold riot. Dreadful was the din 

Of hissing through the hall, thick-swarming now 

With complicated monsters, head and tail — 

Scorpion, and Asp, and Amphisbaena dire. 

Cerastes horned, Hydrus, and Ellops drear. 

And Dipsas (not so thick swarmed once the soil 

Bedropt with blood of Gorgon, or the isle 

Ophiusa) ; but still greatest he the midst, 

Now Dragon grown, larger than whom the Sun 



232 PARADISE LOST. [Book x. 



Engendered in the Pythian vale on slime, 530 

Huge Python ; and his power no less he seemed 

Above the rest still to retain. They all 

Him followed, issuing forth to the open field, 

Where all yet left of that revolted rout, 

Heaven-fallen, in station stood or just array, 

Sublime with expectation when to see 

In triumph issuing forth their glorious Chief. 

They saw, but other sight instead — a crowd 

Of ugly serpents ! Horror on them fell, 

And horrid sym.pathy ; for what they saw 540 

They felt themselves now changing. Down their arms, 

Down fell botlj spear and shield ; down they as fast. 

And the dire hiss renewed, and the dire form 

Catched by contagion, like in punishment 

As in their crime. Thus was the applause they meant 

Turned to exploding hiss, triumph to shame 

Cast on themselves from their own mouths. There stood 

A grove hard by, sprung up wdth this their change, 

His will who reigns above, to aggravate 

Their penance, laden with fair fruit, like that 550 

Which grew in Paradise, the bait of Eve 

Used by the Tempter. On that prospect strange 

Their earnest eyes they fixed, imagining 

For one forbidden tree a multitude 

Now risen, to work them further woe or shame ; 

Yet, parched with scalding thirst and hunger fierce, 

Though to delude them sent, could not abstain, 

But on they rolled in heaps, and, up the trees 

Climbing, sat thicker than the snaky locks 

That curled Megaera. Greedily they plucked 560 

The fruitage fair to sight, like that which grew 

Near that bituminous lake where Sodom flamed ; 

This, more delusive, not the touch, but taste 

Deceived ; they, fondly thinking to allay 

Their appetite with gust, instead of fruit 

Chewed bitter ashes, which the offended taste 

With spattering noise rejected. Oft they assayed. 

Hunger and thirst constraining ; drugged as oft, 

With hatefulest disrelish writhed their jaws 

With soot and cinders filled ; so oft they fell 570 

Into the same illusion, not as Man 

Whom they triumphed once lapsed. Thus were they plagued, 

And, worn with famine, long and ceaseless hiss, 

Till their lost shape, permitted, they resumed — 

Yearly enjoined, some say, to undergo 

This annual humbling certain numbered days, 



BOOKX.] PARADISE LOST. 233 

To dash their pride, and joy for Man seduced. 
However, some tradition they dispersed 
Among the Heathen of their purchase got. 

And fabled how the Serpent, whom they called 580 

Ophion, with Eurynome (the wide- 
Encroaching Eve perhaps), had first the rule 
Of high Olympus, thence by Saturn driven 
And Ops, ere yet Dictccan Jove was born. 

Meanwhile in Paradise the Hellish pair 
Too soon arrived — Sin, there in power before 
Once actual, now in body, and to dwell 
Habitual habitant ; behind her Death, 
Close following pace for pace, not mounted yet 
On his pale horse ; to whom Sin thus began : — 590 

•^ Second of Satan sprung, all-conquering Death ! 
What think'st thou of our empire now? though earned 
With travail difficult, not better far 
Than still at HelPs dark threshold to have sat watch, 
Unnamed, undreaded, and thyself half-starved ? '^ 

Whom thus the Sin-born Monster answered soon : — 
" To me, who with eternal famine pine. 
Alike is Hell, or Paradise, or Heaven — 
There best where most with ravin I may meet : 
Which here, though plenteous, all too little seems 600 

To stuff this maw, this vast unhide-bound corpse.*' 

To whom the incestuous Mother thus replied : — 
" Thou, therefore, on these herbs, and fruits, and flowers, 
Feed first ; on each beast next, and fish, and fowl — 
No homely morsels ; and whatever thing 
The scythe of Time mows down devour unspared ; 
Till I, in Man residing through the race. 
His thoughts, his looks, words, actions, all infect, 
And season him thy last and sweetest prey.'' 

This said, they both betook them several ways, 610 

Both to destroy, or unimmortal make 
All kinds, and for destruction to mature 
Sooner or later ; which the Almighty seeing. 
From his transcendent seat the Saints among. 
To those bright Orders uttered thus his voice : — 

" See with what heat these dogs of Hell advance 
To waste and havoc yonder World, which I 
So fair and good created, and had still 
Kept in that state, had not the folly of Man 

Let in these wasteful furies, who impute 620 

Folly to me (so doth the Prince of Hell 
And his adherents), that with so much ease 
I suffer them to enter and possess 



234 PARADISE LOST. [Book x.. 

A place so heavenly, and, conniving, seem 

To gratify my scornful enemies, 

That laugh, as if, transported with some fit 

Of passion, I to them had quitted all, 

At random yielded up to their misrule ; 

And know not that I called and drew them thither, 

My Hell-hounds, to lick up the draff and filth 630 

Which Man's polluting sin with taint hath shed 

On what was pure ; till, crammed and gorged, nigh burst 

With sucked and glutted offal, at one sling 

Of thy victorious arm, well-pleasing Son, 

Both Sin and Death, and yawning Grave, at last 

Through Chaos hurled, obstruct the mouth of Hell 

For ever, and seal up his ravenous jaws. 

Then Heaven and Earth, renewed, shall be made pure 

To sanctity that shall receive no stain : 

Till then the curse pronounced on both precedes." 640 

He ended, and the Heavenly audience loud 
Sung Halleluiah, as the sound of seas, 
Through multitude that sung: — "Just are thy ways, 
Righteous are thy decrees on all thy works ; 
Who can extenuate thee? Next, to the Son, 
Destined restorer of Mankind, by whom 
New Heaven and Earth shall to the ages rise. 
Or down from Heaven descend." Such was their song. 
While the Creator, calling forth by name 

His mighty Angels, gave them several charge, 650 

As sorted best with present things. The Sun 
Had first his precept so to move, so shine, 
As might affect the Earth with cold and heat 
Scarce tolerable, and from the north to call 
Decrepit winter, from the south to bring 
Solstitial summer''s heat. To the blanc Moon 
Her ofiice they prescribed ; to the other five 
Their planetary motions and aspects, 
In sextile, square, and trine, and opposite, 

Of noxious efficacy, and when to join 660 

In synod unbenign ; and taught the fixed 
Their influence malignant when to shower — 
Which of them, rising with the Sun or falling. 
Should prove tempestuous. To the winds they set 
Their corners, when with bluster to confound 
Sea, air, and shore ; the thunder when to roll 
With terror through the dark aerial hall. 
Some say he bid his Angels turn askance 
The poles of Earth twice ten degrees and more 
From the Sun's axle ; they with labour pushed 



Book x.] PARADISE LOST. 235 

Oblique the centric Globe : some say the Sun 

Was bid turn reins from the equinoctial road 

Like distant breadth — to Taurus with the seven 

Atlantic Sisters, and the Spartan Twins, 

Up to the Tropic Crab ; thence down amain 

By Leo, and the Virgin, and the Scales, 

As deep as Capricorn ; to bring in change 

Of seasons to each clime. Else had the spring 

Perpetual smiled on Earth with vernant flowers, 

Equal in days and nights, except to those 680 

Beyond the polar circles ; to them day 

Had unbenighted shone, while the low Sun, 

To recompense his distance, in their sight 

Had rounded still the horizon, and not known 

Or east or west — which had forbid the snow 

From cold Estotiland, and south as far 

Beneath Magellan. At that tasted fruit. 

The Sun, as from Thyestean banquet, turned 

His course intended ; else how had the world 

Inhabited, though sinless, more than now 690 

Avoided pinching cold and scorching heat? 

These changes in the heavens, though slow, produced 

Like change on sea and land — sideral blast. 

Vapour, and mist, and exhalation hot, 

Con-upt and pestilent. Now from the north 

Of Norumbega, and the Samoed shore. 

Bursting their brazen dungeon, armed with ice. 

And snow, and hail, and stormy gust and flaw, 

Boreas and Caecias and Argestes loud 

And Thrascias rend the woods, and seas upturn; 700 

With adverse blasts upturns them from the south 

Notus and Afer, black Avith thundrous clouds 

From Serraliona ; thwart of these, as fierce 

Forth rush the Levant and the Ponent winds, 

Eurus and Zephyr, with their lateral noise, 

Sirocco and Libecchio. Thus began 

Outrage from lifeless things ; but Discord first. 

Daughter of Sin, among the irrational 

Death introduced through fierce antipathy. 

Beast now with beast 'gan war, and fowl with fowl, 710 

And fish with fish. To graze the herb all leaving 

Devoured each other; nor stood much in awe 

Of Man, but fled him, or with countenance grim 

Glared on him passing. These were from without 

The growing miseries ; which Adam saw 

Already in part, though hid in gloomiest shade, 

To sorrow abandoned, but worse felt within, 



236 ' PARADISE LOST. [Book x. 



And, in a troubled sea of passion tost, 

Thus to disburden sought with sad complaint: — 

''O miserable of happy! Is this the end 720 

Of this new glorious World, and me so late 
The glory of that glory? who now, become 
Accursed of blessed, hide me from the face 
Of God, whom to behold was then my highth 
Of happiness ! Yet well, if here w^ould end 
The misery ! I deserved it, and would bear 
My own deservings. But this will not serve : 
All that I eat or drink, or shall beget, 
Is propagated curse. O voice, once heard 

Delightfully, ' Iiict'ease and lujiltiply ; ' 730 

Now death to hear ! for w^iat can I increase 
Or multiply but curses on my head? 
Who, of all ages to succeed, but, feeling 
The evil on him brought by me, will curse 
My head? 'Ill fare our Ancestor impure! 
For this we may thank Adam ! ' but his thanks 
Shall be the execration. So, besides 
Mine own that bind upon me, all from me 
Shall with a fierce reflux on me redound — 

On me, as on their natural centre, light ; 740 

Heavy, though in their place. O fleeting joys 
Of Paradise, dear bought with lasting woes ! 
Did I request thee, Maker, from my clay 
To mould me Man? Did I solicit thee 
From darkness to promote me, or here place 
In thh delicious Garden! As my will 
Concurred not to my being, it w^ere but right 
And equal to reduce me to my dust. 
Desirous to resign and render back 

All I received, unable to perform 750 

Thy terms too hard, by which I was to hold 
The good I sought not. To the loss of that, 
Sufficient penalty, why hast thou added 
The sense of endless Avoes? Inexplicable 
Thy justice seems. Yet, to say truth, too late 
I thus contest; then should have been refused 
Those terms, whatever, when they were proposed. 
Thou didst accept them : wilt thou enjoy the good, 
Then cavil the conditions? And, though God 

Made thee without thy leave, what if thy son 760 

Prove disobedient, and, reproved, retort, 
'Wherefore didst thou beget me? I sought it not!' 
Wouldst thou admit for his contempt of thee 
That proud excuse? yet him not thy election. 



BooKX.] PARADISE LOST. 237 

But natural necessity, begot. 

God made thee of choice his own, and of his own 

To serve him ; thy reward was of his grace ; 

Thy punishment, then, justly is at his will. 

Be it so, for I submit ; his doom is fair. 

That dust I am, and shall to dust return. 770 

O welcome hour whenever ! Why delays 

His hand to execute what his decree 

Fixed on this day? Why do I overlive? 

Why am I mocked with death, and lengthened out 

To deathless pain? How gladly would I meet 

Mortality, my sentence, and be earth 

Insensible ! how glad would lay me down 

As in my mother's lap ! There I should rest, 

And sleep secure ; his dreadful voice no more 

Would thunder in my ears ; no fear of worse 780 

To me and to my offspring would torment me 

With cruel expectation. Yet one doubt 

Pursues me still — lest all I cannot die; 

Lest that pure breath of life, the Spirit of Man 

Which God inspired, cannot together perish 

With this corporeal clod. Then, in the grave, 

Or in some other dismal place, who knows 

But I shall die a living death? O thought 

Horrid, if true! Yet why? It was but breath 

Of life that sinned : what dies but what had life 790 

And sin? The body properly hath neither. 

All of me, then, shall die : let this appease 

The doubt, since human reach no further knows. 

For, though the Lord of all be infinite. 

Is his wrath also? Be it, Man is not so. 

But mortal doomed. How can he exercise 

Wrath without end on Man, whom death must end? 

Can he make deathless death? That were to make 

Strange contradiction ; which to God himself 

Impossible is held, as argument 800 

Of weakness, not of power. Will he draw out, 

For anger's sake, finite to infinite 

In punished Man, to satisfy his rigour 

Satisfied never? That were to extend 

His sentence beyond dust and Nature's law ; 

By which all causes else according still 

To the reception of their matter act. 

Not to the extent of their own sphere. But say 

That death be not one stroke, as I supposed, 

Bereaving sense, but endless misery 810 

From this day onward, which I feel begun 



238 PARADISE LOST. [Book x. 

Both in me and without me, and so last 

To perpetuity ^ Ay me! that fear 

Comes thundering bade with dreadful revolution 

On my defenceless head ! Both Death and I 

Am found eternal, and incorporate both : 

Nor I on my part single ; in me all 

Posterity stands cursed. Fair patrimony 

That I must leave ye, sons ! Oh, were I able 

To waste it all myself, and leave ye none ! 820 

So disinherited, how would ye bless 

Me, now your curse ! Ah, why should all Mankind, 

For one man's fault, thus guiltless be condemned? 

If guiltless! But from me what can proceed 

But all corrupt — both mind and will depraved 

Not to do only, but to will the same 

With me! How can they, then, acquitted stand 

In sight of God? Him, after all disputes, 

Forced I absolve. All my evasions vain 

And reasonings, though through mazes, lead me still 830 

But to my own conviction : first and last 

On me, me only, as the source and spring 

Of all corruption, all the blame lights due. 

So might the wrath! Fond wish! couldst thou support 

That burden, heavier than the Earth to bear — 

Than all the world much heavier, though divided 

With that bad Woman? Thus, what thou desir'st, 

And what thou fear'st, alike destroys all hope 

Of refuge, and concludes thee miserable 

Beyond all past example and future — 840 

To Satan only like, both crime and doom. 

Conscience ! into what abyss of fears 

And horrors hast thou driven me ; out of which 

1 find no way, from deep to deeper plunged ! " 
Thus Adam to himself lamented loud 

Through the still night — not now, as ere Man fell, 

Wholesome and cool and mild, but with black air 

Accompanied, with damps and dreadful gloom ; 

Which to his evil conscience represented 

All things with double terror. On the ground 850 

Outstretched he lay, on the cold ground, and oft 

Cursed his creation ; Death as oft accused 

Of tardy execution, since denounced 

The day of his offence. "Why comes not Death," 

Said he, " with one thrice-acceptable stroke 

To end me? Shall Tiaith fail to keep her word, 

Justice divine not hasten to be just? 

But Death comes not at call ; Justice divine 



Book x.] PARADISE LOST. 239 

Mends not her slowest pace for prayers or cries. 

woods, O fountains, hillocks, dales, and bowers ! 860 
With other echo late I taught your shades 

To answer, and resound far other song." 
Whom thus afflicted when sad Eve beheld, 
Desolate where she sat, approaching nigh. 
Soft words to his fierce passion ^he assayed ; 
But her, with stern regard, he thus repelled : — 

"Out of my sight, thou serpent! That name best 
Befits thee, with him leagued, thyself as false 
And hateful : nothing wants, but that thy shape 
Like his, and colour serpentine, may show 870 

Thy inward fraud, to warn all creatures from thee 
Henceforth, lest that too heavenly form, pretended 
To hellish falsehood, snare them. But for thee 

1 had persisted happy, had not thy pride 
And wandering vanity, when least was safe, 
Rejected my forewarning, and disdained 
Not to be trusted — longing to be seen, 
Though by the Devil himself; him overweening 
To overreach ; but, with the Serpent meeting. 

Fooled and beguiled ; by him thou, I by thee, 880 

To trust thee from my side, imagined wise, 

Constant, mature, proof against all assaults, 

And understood not all was but a show, 

Rather than solid virtue, all but a rib 

Crooked by nature — bent, as now appears. 

More to the part sinister — from me drawn ; 

Well if thrown out, as supernumerary 

To my just number found ! Oh, why did God, 

Creator wise, that peopled highest Heaven 

With Spirits masculine, create at last 890 

This novelty on Earth, this fair defect 

Of Nature, and not fill the World at once 

With men as Angels, without feminine ; 

Or find some other way to generate 

Mankind? This 'mischief had not then befallen, 

And more that shall befall — innumerable 

Disturbances on Earth through female snares. 

And straight conjunction with this sex. For either 

He never shall find out fit mate, but such 

As some misfortune brings him, or mistake ; 900 

Or whom he wishes most shall seldom gain. 

Through her perverseness, but shall see her gained 

By a far worse, or, if she love, withheld 

By parents ; or his happiest choice too late 

Shall meet, already linked and wedlock-bound 



240 PARADISE LOST [Book x. 

To a fell adversary, his hate or shame : 

Which infinite calamity shall cause 

To human life, and household peace confound." 

He added not, and from her turned ; but Eve, 
Not so repulsed, with tears that ceased not flowing, 910 

And tresses all disordered, at his feet 
Fell humble, and, embracing tjiem, besought 
His peace, and thus proceeded in her plaint : — 

'' Forsake me not thus, Adam ! witness Heaven 
What love sincere and reverence in my heart 
I bear thee, and unweeting have oiTended, 
Unhappily deceived ! Thy suppliant 
I beg, and clasp thy knees ; bereave me not 
Whereon I live, thy gentle looks, thy aid. 

Thy counsel in this uttermost distress, 920 

My only strength and stay. Forlorn of thee. 
Whither shall I betake me, where subsist? 
While yet we live, scarce one short hour perhaps, 
Between us two let there be peace ; both joining, 
As joined in injuries, one enmity 
Against a foe by doom express assigned us, 
That cruel Serpent. On me exercise not 
Thy hatred for this misery befallen — 
On me already lost, me than thyself 

More miserable. Both have sinned ; but thou 930 

Against God only ; I against God and thee, 
And to the place of judgment will return, 
There with my cries importune Heaven, that all 
The sentence, from thy head removed, may light 
On me, sole cause to thee of all this woe, 
Me, me only, just object of His ire." 

She ended, weeping ; and her lowly plight, 
Immovable till peace obtained from fault 
Acknowledged and deplored, in Adam wrought 
Commiseration. Soon his heart relented 940 

Towards her, his life so late, and sole delight, 
Now at his feet submissive in distress — 
Creature so fair his reconcilement seeking. 
His counsel whom she had displeased, his aid. 
As one disarmed, his anger all he lost, 
And thus with peaceful words upraised her soon : — 

"Unwary, and too desirous, as before 
So now, of what thou know'st not, who desir'st 
The punishment all on thyself ! Alas ! 

Bear thine own first, ill aJDle to sustain 950 

His full wrath whose thou feePst as yet least part, 
And my displeasure bear'st so ill. If prayers 



Could alter high decrees, I to that place 

Would speed before thee, and be louder heard, 

That on my head all might be visited, 

Thy frailty and infirmer sex forgiven. 

To me committed, and by me exposed. 

But rise ; let us no more contend, nor blame 

Each other, blamed enough elsewhere, but strive 

In offices of love how we may lighten 960 

Each other's burden in our share of woe ; 

Since this day's death denounced, if aught I see, 

Will prove no sudden, but a slow-paced evil, 

A long day's dying, to augment our pain. 

And to our seed (O haple^ss seed!) derived." 

To whom thus Eve, recovering heart, replied: — 
"Adam, by sad experiment I^know 
How little weight my words with thee can find, 
Found so erroneous, thence by just event 

Found so unfortunate. Nevertheless, 97° 

Restored by thee, vile as I am, to place 
Of new acceptance, hopeful to regain 
Thy love, the sole contentment of my heart, 

Living or dying from thee I will not hide _ 
What thoughts in my unquiet breast are risen, 

Tending to some relief of our extremes, 

Or end, though sharp and sad, yet tolerable, 

As in our evils, and of easier choice. 

If care of our descent perplex us most, 

Which must be born to certain woe, devoured 9°° 

By Death at last (and miserable it is 

To be to others cause of misery, 

Our own begotten, and of our loins to bring 

Into this cursed world a woeful race, 

That, after wretched life, must be at last 

Food for so foul a monster), in thy power 

It lies, yet ere conception, to prevent 

The race unblest, to being yet unbegot. 

Childless thou art; childless remain. So Death 

Shall be deceived his glut, and with us two 99° 

Be forced to satisfy his ravenous maw. 

But, if thou judge it hard and difficult, 

Conversing, looking, loving, to abstain 

From love's due rites, nuptial embraces sweet. 

And with desire to languish without hope 

Before the present object languishing 

With like desire — which would be misery 

And torment less than none of what we dread — 

Then, both our selves and seed at once to free 



242 



PARADISE LOST. [Book x. 



From what we fear for both, let us make short; looo 

Let us seek Death, or, he not found, supply 

With our own hands his office on ourselves. 

Why stand we longer shivering under fears 

That show no end but death, and have the power, 

Of many ways to die the shortest choosing. 

Destruction with destruction to destroy?" 

She ended here, or vehement despair 
Broke off the rest ; so much of death her thoughts 
Had entertained as dyed her cheek with pale. 
But Adam, with such counsel nothing swayed, loio 

To better hopes his more attentive mind 
Labouring had raised, and thus to Eve replied : — 

'^Eve, thy contempt of life and pleasure seems 
To argue in thee something more sublime » 

And excellent than what thy mind contemns: 
But self-destruction therefore sought refutes 
That excellence thought in thee, and implies 
Not thy contempt, but anguish and regret 
For loss of life and pleasure overloved. 

Or, if thou covet death, as utmost end 1 020 

Of misery, so thinking to evade 
The penalty pronounced, doubt not but God 
Hath wiselier armed his vengeful ire than so 
To be forestalled. Much more I fear lest death 
So snatched will not exempt us from the pain 
We are by doom to pay ; rather such acts 
Of contumacy will provoke the Highest 
To make death in us live. Then let us seek 
Some safer resolution — which methinks 

I have in view, calling to mind with heed 1030 

Part of our sentence, that thy seed shall bmise 
The Serpent's head. Piteous amends! unless 
Be meant whom I conjecture, our grand foe, 
Satan, who in the Serpent hath contrived 
Against us this deceit. To crush his head 
Would be revenge indeed — which will be lost 
By death brought on ourselves, or childless days 
Resolved as thou proposest ; so our foe 
Shall scape his punishment ordained, and we 
Instead shall double ours upon our heads. 104 

No more be mentioned, then, of violence 
Against ourselves, and wilful barrenness 
That cuts us from all hope, and savours only 
Rancour and pride, impatience and despite. 
Reluctance against God and his just yoke 
Laid on our necks. Rem.ember with what mild \ 

1 



BooKX.] PARADISE LOST. 243 

And gracious temper he both heard and judged, 

Without wrath or reviling. We expected 

Immediate dissohition, which we thought 

Was meant by death that day ; when, lo ! to thee 1050 

Pains only in child-bearing were foretold, 

And bringing forth, soon recompensed with joy, 

Fruit of thy womb. On me the curse aslope 

Glanced on the ground. With labour I must earn 

My bread; what harm? Idleness had been worse; 

My labour will sustain me ; and, lest cold 

Or heat should injure us, his timely care 

Hath, unbesought, provided, and his hands 

Clothed us unworthy, pitying while he judged. 

How much more, if we pray him, will his ear 1060 

Be open, and his heart to pity incline, 

And teach us further by what means to shun 

The inclement seasons, rain, ice, hail, and snow ! 

Which now the sk}-, with various face, begins 

To show us in this mountain, while the winds 

Blow moist and keen, shattering the graceful locks 

Of these fair spreading trees ; which bids us seek 

Some better shroud, some better w^armth to cherish 

Our limbs benumbed — ere this diurnal star 

Leave cold the night, how we his gathered beams 1070 

Reflected may with matter sere foment. 

Or by collision of two bodies grind 

The air attrite to fire ; as late the clouds, 

Justling, or pushed with winds, rude in their shock, 

Tine the slant lightning, whose thwart flame, driven down, 

Kindles the gummy bark of fir or pine. 

And sends a comfortable heat from far, 

Which might supply the Sun. Such fire to use, 

And what may else be remedy or cure 

To evils which our own misdeeds have wrought, 1080 

He will instruct us praying, and of grace 

Beseeching him ; so as we need not fear 

To pass commodiously this life, sustained 

By him with many comforts, till we end 

In dust, our final rest and native home. 

What better can we do than, to the place 

Repairing where he judged us, prostrate fall 

Before him reverent, and there confess 

Humbly our faults, and pardon beg, with tears 

Watering the ground, and with our sighs the air 1090 

Frequenting, sent from hearts contrite, in sign \ 

Of sorrow unfeigned and humiliation meek? ^ 

Undoubtedly he will relent, and turn | 



244 PARADISE LOST. [Book x. 



From his displeasure, in whose look serene, 
When angry most he seemed and most severe, 
What else but favour, grace, and mercy shone?" 

So spake our Father penitent ; nor Eve 
Felt less remorse. They, forthwith to the place 
Repairing where he judged them, prostrate fell 
Before him reverent, and both confessed lioo 

Humbly their faults, and pardon begged, with tears 
Watering the ground, and with their sighs the air 
Frequenting, sent from hearts contrite, in sign 
Of sorrow unfeigned and humiliation meek. 



THE END OF THE TENTH BOOK. 



PARADISE LOST. 



BOOK XL 



THE ARGUMENT. 

The Son of God presents to his Father the prayers of our first parents now repenting, and 
intercedes for them. God accepts them, but declares that they must no longer abide in 
Paradise; sends Michael with a band of Cherubim to dispossess them, but first to reveal to 
Adam future things: Michael's coming down. Adam shows to Eve certain ominous signs: he 
discerns Michael's approach; goes out to meet him: the Angel denounces their departure. 
Eve's lamentation. Adam pleads, but submits: the Angel leads him up to a high hill; sets 
before him in vision what shall happen till the Flood. 

THUS they, in lowliest plight, repentant stood 
Praying; for from the mercy-seat above 
Prevenient grace descending had removed 
The stony from their hearts, and made new flesh 
Regenerate grow instead, that sighs now breathed 
Unutterable, which the Spirit of prayer 
Inspired, and winged for Heaven with speedier flight 
Than loudest oratory. Yet their port 
Not of mean suitors ; nor important less 

Seemed their petition than when the ancient pair lo 

In fables old, less ancient yet than these, 
Deucalion and chaste Pyrrha, to restore 
The race of mankind drowned, before the shrine 
Of Themis stood devout. To Heaven their prayers 
Flew up, nor missed the way, by envious winds 
Blown vagabond or frustrate : in they passed 
Dimensionless through heavenly doors ; then, clad 
With incense, where the golden altar fumed. 
By their great Intercessor, came in sight 

Before the Father's throne. Them the glad Son 2C 

Presenting thus to intercede began : — 

" See, Father, what first-fruits on Earth are sprinig 
From thy implanted grace in Man — these sighs 
And prayers, which in this golden censer, mixed 

245 



246 PARADISE LOST. [Book xi. 



With incense, I, thy priest, before thee bring; 

Fruits of more pleasing savour, from thy seed 

Sown with contrition in his heart, than those 

Which, his own hand manuring, ail the trees 

Of Paradise could have produced, ere fallen 

From innocence. Now, therefore, bend thine ear 30 

To supplication ; hear his sighs, though mute ; 

Unskilful with what words to pray, let me 

Interpret for him, me his advocate 

And propitiation ; all his works on me. 

Good or not good, ingraft; my merit those 

Shall perfect, and for these my death shall pay. 

Accept me, and in me from these receive 

The smell of peace toward Mankind ; let him live. 

Before thee reconciled, at least his days 

Numbered, though sad, till death, his doom (which I 40 

To mitigate thus plead, not to reverse). 

To better life shall yield him, where with me 

All my redeemed may dwell in joy and bliss, 

Made one with me, as I with thee am one." 

To whom the Father, without cloud, serene : — 
''All thy request for Man, accepted Son, 
Obtain ; all thy request was my decree. 
But longer in that Paradise to dwell 
The law I gave to Nature him forbids ; 

Those pure immortal elements, that know 50 

No gross, no unharmonious mixture foul, 
Eject him, tainted now, and purge him off, 
As a distemper, gross, to air as gross, 
And mortal food, as may dispose him best 
For dissolution wrought by sin, that first 
Distempered all things, and of incormpt 
Corrupted. I, at first, with two fair gifts 
Created him endowed — with Happiness 
And Immortality ; that fondly lost, 

This other served but to eternize woe, 60 

Till I provided Death : so Death becomes 
His final remedy, and, after life 
Tried in sharp tribulation, and refined 
By faith and faithful works, to second life, 
Wsiked in the renovation of the just, 
Resigns him up with Heaven and Earth renewed. 
But let us call to synod all the Blest 

Through Heaven's wide bounds ; from them I will not hide 
My judgments — how with Mankind I proceed. 
As how with peccant Angels late they saw, 70 

And in their state, though firm, stood more confirmed.'" 



\ 



Book xi.] PARADISE LOST. 247 

He ended, and the Son gave signal high 
To the bright Minister that watched. He blew 
His trumpet, heard in Oreb since perhaps 
When God descended, and perhaps once more 
To sound at general doom. The angelic blast 
Filled all the regions : from their blissful bowers 
Of amarantine shade, fountain or spring, 
By the waters of life, where'er they sat 

In fellowships of joy, the Sons of Light 80 

Hasted, resorting to the summons high. 
And took their seats, till from his throne supreme 
The Almighty thus pronounced his sovran will : — 

" O Sons, like one of us Man is become 
To know both good and evil, since his taste 
Of that defended fruit ; but let him boast 
His knowledge of good lost and evil got, 
Happier had it sufficed him to have known 
Good by itself and evil not at all. 

He sorrows now, repents, and prays contrite — 90 

My motions in him ; longer than they move, 
His heart I know how variable and vain. 
Self-left. Lest, therefore, his now bolder hand 
Reach also of the Tree of Life, and eat, 
And live for ever, dream at least to live 
For ever, to remove him I decree. 
And send him from the Garden forth, to till 
The ground whence he was taken, fitter soil. 
Michael, this my behest have thou in charge : 
Take to thee from among the Cherubim loo 

Thy choice of flaming warriors, lest the Fiend, 
Or in behalf of Man, or to invade 
Vacant possession, some new trouble raise ; 
Haste thee, and from the Paradise of God 
Without remorse drive out the sinful pair, 
From hallowed ground the unholy, and denounce 
To them, and to their progeny, from thence 
Perpetual banishment. Yet, lest they faint 
At the sad sentence rigorously urged 

(For I behold them softened, and with tears no 

Bewailing their excess), all terror hide. 
If patiently thy bidding they obey. 
Dismiss them not disconsolate ; reveal 
To Adam what shall come in future days, 
As I shall thee enlighten ; intermix 
My covenant in the Woman's seed renewed. 
So send them forth, though sorrowing, yet in peace ; 
And on the east side of the Garden place, 



248 PARADISE LOST. [Book xi. 

Where entrance up from Eden easiest climbs, 

Cherubic watch, and of a sword the flame 120 

Wide-waving, all approach far off to fright, 

And guard all passage to the Tree of Life ; 

Lest Paradise a receptacle prove 

To Spirits foul, and all my trees their prey, 

With whose stolen fruit Man once more to delude." 

He ceased, and the Archangelic Power prepared 
For swift descent ; with him the cohort bright 
Of watchful Cherubim. Four faces each 
Had, like a double Janus ; all their shape 

Spangled with eyes more numerous than those 130 

Of Argus, and more wakeful than to drowse, 
Charmed with Arcadian pipe, the pastoral reed 
Of Hermes, or his opiate rod. Meanwhile, 
To resalute the World with sacred light, 
Leucothea waked, and with fresh dews embalmed 
The Earth, when Adam and first matron Eve 
Had ended now their orisons, and found 
Strength added from above, new hope to spring 
Out of despair, joy, but with fear yet linked ; 
Which thus to Eve his welcome words renewed: — 140 

" Eve, easily may faith admit that all 
The good which we enjoy from Heaven descends ; 
But that from us aught should ascend to Heaven 
So prevalent as to concern the mind 
Of God high-blest, or to incline his will. 
Hard to belief may seem. Yet this will prayer, 
Or one short sigh of human breath, upborne 
Even to the seat of God. For, since I sought 
By prayer the offended Deity to appease. 

Kneeled and before him humbled all my heart, 150 

Methought I saw him placable and mild. 
Bending his ear ; persuasion in me grew 
That I was heard with favour ; peace returned 
Home to my breast, and to my memory 
His promise that thy seed shall bmise our Foe ; 
Which, then not minded in dismay, yet now 
Assures me that the bitterness of death 
Is past, and we shall live. Whence hail to thee ! 
Eve rightly called. Mother of all Mankind, 

Mother of all things living, since by thee 160 

Man is to live, and all things live for Man." 

To whom thus Eve with sad demeanour meek : — 
"Ill-worthy I such title should belong 
To me transgressor, who, for thee ordained 
A help, became thy snare; to me reproach 



Book xi.] PARADISE LOST. 249 

Rather belongs, distrust and all dispraise. 

But infinite in pardon was my Judge, 

That I, who first brought death on all, am graced 

The source of life ; next favourable thou, 

Who highly thus to entitle me vouchsaf'st, 170 

Far other name deserving. But the field 

To labour calls us, now with sweat imposed, 

Though after sleepless nights ; for see ! the Morn, 

All unconcerned with our unrest, begins 

Her rosy progress smiling. Let us forth, 

I never from thy side henceforth to stray, 

Where'er our day's work lies, though now enjoined 

Laborious, till day droop. While here we dwell, 

What can be toilsome in these pleasant walks? 

Here let us live, though in fallen state, content." 180 

So spake, so wished, much-humbled Eve ; but Fate 
Subscribed not. Nature first gave signs, impressed 
On bird, beast, air — air suddenly eclipsed. 
After short blush of morn. Nigh in her sight 
The bird of Jove, stooped from his aery tour, 
Two birds of gayest plume before him drove ; 
Down from a hill the beast that reigns in woods, 
First hunter then, pursued a gentle Ibrace, 
Goodliest of all the forest, hart and hind ; 

Direct to the eastern gate was bent their flight. 190 

Adam observed, and, with his eye the chase 
Pursuing, not unmoved to Eve thus spake : — 

"O Eve, some further change awaits us nigh. 
Which Heaven by these mute signs in Nature shows. 
Forerunners of his purpose, or to warn 
Us, haply too secure of our discharge 
From penalty because from death released 
Some days : how long, and what till then our life, 
Who knows, or more than this, that we are dust, 
And thither must return, and be no more? 200 

Why else this double object in our sight, 
Of flight pursued in the air and o'er the ground 
One way the self-same hour? Why in the east 
Darkness ere day's mid-course, and morning-light 
More orient in yon western cloud, that draws 
O'er the blue firmament a radiant white, 
And slow descends, with something Heavenly fraught?" 

He erred not; for, by this, the Heavenly bands 
Down from a sky of jasper lighted now 

In Paradise, and on a hill made halt — 210 

A glorious apparition, had not doubt 
And carnal fear that day dimmed Adam's eye. 



250 PARADISE LOST, [Book xi. 

Not that more glorious, when the Angels met 

Jacob in Mahanaim, where he saw 

The field pavilioned with his guardians bright; 

Nor that which on the flaming mount appeared 

In Dothan, covered with a camp of fire, 

Against the Syrian king, who, to surprise 

One man, assassin-like, had levied war. 

War unproclaimed. The princely Hierarch 220 

In their bright stand there left his Powers to seize 

Possession of the Garden ; he alone, 

To find where Adam sheltered, took his way, 

Not unperceived of Adam ; who to Eve, 

While the great visitant approached, thus spake : — 

"Eve, now expect great tidings, which, perhaps. 
Of us will soon determine, or impose 
New laws to be observed; for I descry. 
From yonder blazing cloud that veils the hill. 
One of the Heavenly host, and, by his gait, 230 

None of the meanest — some great Potentate 
Or of the Thrones above, such majesty 
Invests him coming; yet not terrible, 
That I should fear, nor sociably mild. 
As Raphael, that I should much confide, 
But solemn and sublime ; whom, not to offend, 
With reverence I must meet, and thou retire." 

He ended ; and the Archangel soon drew nigh, 
Not in his shape celestial, but as man 

Clad to meet man. Over his lucid arms 240 

A military vest of purple flowed. 
Livelier than Meliboean, or the grain 
Of Sarra, worn by kings and heroes old 
In time of truce ; Iris had dipt the woof. 
His starry helm unbuckled showed him prime 
In manhood where youth ended; by his side, 
As in a glistering zodiac, hung the sword, 
Satan's dire dread, and in his hand the spear, 
Adam bowed low ; he, kingly, from his state ^ , 

Inclined not, but his coming thus declared: — 250 

"Adam, Heaven's high behest no preface needs. 
Sufficient that thy prayers are heard, and Death, 
Then due by sentence when thou didst transgress. 
Defeated of his seizure many days. 
Given thee of grace, wherein thou may'st repent, 
And one bad act with many deeds well done 
May'st cover. Well may then thy Lord, appeased, 
Redeem thee quite from Death's rapacious claim ; 
But longer in this Paradise to dwell 



Book xi.] PARADISE LOST. 251 



Permits not. To remove thee I am come, 260 

And send thee from the Garden forth, to till 

The ground whence thou wast taken, fitter soil." 

He added not; for Adam, at the news 

Heart-strook, with chilling gripe of sorrow stood, 

That all his senses bound; Eve, who unseen 

Yet all had heard, with audible lament 

Discovered soon the place of her retire : — 

" O unexpected stroke, worse than of Death ! 
Must I thus leave thee, Paradise? thus leave 

Thee, native soil? these happy walks and shades, 270 

Fit haunt of Gods, where I had hope to spend, 
Quiet, though sad, the respite of that day 
That mast be mortal to us both? O flowers. 

That never will in other climate grow. 

My early visitation, and my last 

At even, which I bred up with tender hand 

From the first opening bud, and gave ye names. 

Who now shall rear ye to the Sun, or rank 

Your tribes, and water from the ambrosial fount? 

Thee, lastly, nuptial bower, by me adorned 2bo 

With what to sight or smell was sweet, from thee 

How shall I part, and whither wander down 

Into a lower world, to this obscure 

And wild? How shall we breathe in other air 

Less pure, accustomed to immortal fruits?'' 
Whom thus the Angel interrupted mild : — 

" Lament not, Eve, but patiently resign 

What justly thou hast lost ; nor set thy heart, 

Thus over-fond, on that which is not thine. 

Thy going is not lonely; with thee goes 290 

Thy husband; him to follow thou art bound ;^ 

Where he abides, think there thy native soil.'' 
Adam, by this from the cold sudden damp 

Recovering, and his scattered spirits returned, 

To Michael thus his humble words addressed: — 
"Celestial, whether among the Thrones, or named 

Of them the highest — for such of shape may seem 

Prince above princes — gently hast thou told 

Thy message, which might else in telling wound, 

And in performing end us. What besides 3°° 

Of sorrow, and dejection, and despair, 
Our frailty can sustain, thy tidings bring — 
Departure from this happy place, our sweet 
Recess, and only consolation left 
Familiar to our eyes ; all places else 
Inhospitable appear, and desolate, 



252 PARADISE LOST. [I3ook xi. 

Nor knowing us, nor known. And, if by prayer 

Incessant I could hope to change the will 

Of him who all things can, I would not cease 

To weary him with my assiduous cries; 310 

But prayer against his absolute decree 

No more avails than breath against the wind, 

Blown stifling back on him that breathes it forth : 

Therefore to his great bidding I submit. 

This most afiiicts me — that, departing hence, 

As from his face I shall be hid, deprived 

His blessed countenance. Here I could frequent, 

With worship, place by place where he vouchsafed 

Presence Divine, and to my sons relate, 

' On this mount He appeared ; under this tree 320 

Stood visible ; among these pines his voice 

I heard ; here with him at this fountain talked.' 

So many grateful altars I would rear 

Of grassy turf, and pile up every stone 

Of lustre from the brook, in memory 

Or monument to ages, and thereon 

Offer sweet-smelling gums, and fruits, and flowers. 

In yonder nether world where shall I seek 

His bright appearances, or footstep trace? 

For, though I fled him angry, yet, recalled 330 

To life prolonged and promised race, I now 

Gladly behold though but his utmost skirts 

Of glory, and far off his steps adore." 

To whom thus Michael, with regard benign : — 
"Adam, thou know'st Heaven his, and all the Earth, 
Not this rock only ; his omnipresence fills 
Land, sea, and air, and every kind that lives. 
Fomented by his virtual power and warmed. 
All the Earth he gave thee to possess and rule, 
No despicable gift ; surmise not, then, 340 

His presence to these narrow bounds confined 
Of Paradise or Eden. This had been 
Perhaps thy capital seat, from whence had spread 
All generations, and had hither come. 
From all the ends of the Earth, to celebrate 
And reverence thee their great progenitor. 
But this pre-eminence thou hast lost, brought down 
To dwell on even ground now with thy sons : 
Yet doubt not but in valley and in plain 

God is, as here, and will be found alike 350 

Present, and of his presence many a sign 
Still following thee, still compassing thee round 
With goodness and paternal love, his face 



Book XT.] PARADISE LOST. 253 

Express, and of his steps the track divine. 

Which that thou may'st believe, and be confirmed 

Ere thou from hence depart, know I am sent 

To show thee what shall come in future days 

To thee and to thy offspring. Good with bad 

Expect to hear, supernal grace contending 

With sinfulness of men — thereby to learn 360 

True patience, and to temper joy with fear 

And pious sorrow, equally inured 

By moderation either state to bear, 

Prosperous or adverse : so shalt thou lead 

Safest thy life, and best prepared endure 

Thy mortal passage when it comes. Ascend 

This hill ; let Eve (for I have drenched her eyes) 

Here sleep below while thou to foresight wak'st, 

As once thou slepfst while she to life was formed." 

To whom thus Adam gratefully replied : — 370 

" Ascend ; I follow thee, safe guide, the path 
Thou lead'st me, and to the hand of Heaven submit, 
However chastening — to the evil turn 
My obvious breast, arming to overcome 
By suffering, and earn rest from labour won. 
If so I may attain." So both ascend 
In the visions of God. It was a hill. 
Of Paradise the highest, from whose top 
The hemisphere of Earth in clearest ken 

Stretched out to the amplest reach of prospect lay. 380 

Not higher that hill, nor wider looking round. 
Whereon for different cause the Tempter set 
Our second Adam, in the wilderness. 
To show him all Earth's kingdoms and their glory. 
His eye might there command wherever stood 
City of old or modern fame, the seat 
Of mightiest empire, from the destined walls 
Of Cambalu, seat of Cathaian Can, 
And Samarchand by Oxus, Temir's throne, 

To Paquin, of Sinaean kings, and thence 390 

To Agra and Labor of Great Mogul, 
Down to the golden Chersonese, or where 
The Persian in Ecbatan sat, or since 
In Hispahan, or where the Russian Ksar 
In Mosco, or the Sultan in Bizance, 
Turchestan-born ; nor could his eye not ken 
The empire of Negus to his utmost port 
Ercoco, and the less maritime kings, 
Mombaza, and Quiloa, and Melind, 
And Sofala (thought Ophir), to the realm 400 



Of Congo, and Angola farthest south, 

Or thence from Niger flood to Atlas mount, 

The kingdoms of Almansor, Fez and Sus, 

Marocco, and Algiers, and Tremisen ; 

On Europe thence, and where Rome was to sway 

The world : in spirit perhaps he also saw 

Rich Mexico, the seat of Montezume, 

And Cusco in Peru, the richer seat 

Of Atabalipa, and yet unspoiled 

Guiana, whose great city Geryon's sons 410 

Call El Dorado. But to nobler sights 

Michael from Adam's eyes the film removed 

Which that false fruit that promised clearer sight 

Had bred ; then purged with euphrasy and rue 

The visual nerve, for he had much to see. 

And from the well of life three drops instilled. 

So deep the power of these ingredients pierced. 

Even to the inmost seat of mental sight. 

That Adam, now enforced to close his eyes. 

Sunk down, and all his spirits became entranced. " 420 

But him the gentle Angel by the hand 

Soon raised, and his attention thus recalled : — 

''Adam, now ope thine eyes, and first behold 
The effects which thy original crime hath wrought 
In some to spring from thee, who never touched 
The excepted tree, nor with the Snake conspired. 
Nor sinned thy sin, yet from that sin derive 
Corruption to bring forth more violent deeds." 

His eyes he opened, and beheld a field, 
Part arable and tilth, whereon were sheaves 430 

New-reaped, the other part sheep-walks and folds; 
r the midst an altar as the landmark stood. 
Rustic, of grassy sord. Thither anon 
A sweaty reaper from his tillage brought 
First-fruits, the green ear and the yellow sheaf, 
Unculled, as came to hand. A shepherd next. 
More meek, came with the firstlings of his flock. 
Choicest and best ; then, sacrificing, laid 
The inwards and their fat, with incense strewed. 
On the cleft wood, and all due rites performed. 440 

His offering soon propitious fire from heaven 
Consumed, with nimble glance and grateful steam ; 
The other's not, for his was not sincere : 
Whereat he inly raged, and, as they talked, 
Smote him into the midriff with a stone 
That beat out life ; he fell, and, deadly pale, 
(Groaned out his soul, with gushing blood effused. 



Book xi.] PARADISE LOST. 255 

Much at that sight was Adam in his heart 
Dismayed,, and thus in haste to the Angel cried : — 

" O Teacher, some great mischief hath befallen 450 

To that meek man, who well had sacrificed : 
Is piety thus and pure devotion paid?" 

To whom Michael thus, he also moved, replied: — 
" These two are brethren, Adam, and to come 
Out of thy loins. The unjust the just hath slain, 
For envy that his brother's offering found 
From Heaven acceptance ; but the bloody fact 
Will be avenged, and the other's faith approved 
Lose no reward, though here thou see him die, 
Rolling in dust and gore." To which our Sire: — 460 

'' Alas, both for the deed and for the cause ! 
But have I now seen Death? Is this the way 
I must return to native dust? O sight 
Of terror, foul and ugly to behold! 
Horrid to think, how horrible to feel!" 

To whom thus Michael : — '' Death thou hast seen 
In his first shape on Man; but many shapes 
Of Death, and many are the ways that lead 
To his grim cave — all dismal, yet to sense 

More terrible at the entrance than within. 47° 

Some, as thou saw'st, by violent stroke shall die, 
By fire, flood, famine; by intemperance more 
In meats and drinks, which on the Earth shall bring 
Diseases dire, of which a monstrous crew 
Before thee shall appear, that thou may'st know 
What misery the inabstinence of Eve 
Shall bring on men." Immediately a place 
Before his eyes appeared, sad, noisome, dark; 
A lazar-house it seemed, wherein were laid 

Numbers of all diseased — all maladies 480 

Of ghastly spasm, or racking torture, qualms 
Of heart-sick agony, all feverous kinds. 
Convulsions, epilepsies, fierce catarrhs. 
Intestine stone and ulcer, colic pangs. 
Demoniac phrenzy, moping melancholy, 
And moon-struck' madness, pining atrophy. 
Marasmus, and wide-wasting pestilence, 
Dropsies and asthmas, and joint-racking rheums. 
Dire was the tossing, deep the groans ; Despair 
Tended the sick, busiest from couch to couch ; 49° 

And over them triumphant Death his dart 
Shook, but delayed to strike, though oft invoked 
With vows, as their chief good and final hope. 
Sight so deform, what heart of rock could long 



256 PARADISE LOST. [Book xi. 

Dry-eyed behold? Adam could not, but wept, 
Though not of woman born : compassion quelled 
His best of man, and gave him up to tears 
A space, till firmer thoughts restrained excess. 
And, scarce recovering words, his plaint renewed : — 

"O miserable Mankind, to what fall 500 

Degraded, to what wretched state reserved ! 
Better end here unborn. Why is life given 
To be thus wrested from us? rather why 
Obtruded on us thus? who, if we knew 
What we receive, would either not accept 
Life offered, or soon beg to lay it down, 
Glad to be so dismissed in peace. Can thus 
The image of God in Man, created once 
So goodly and erect, though faulty since. 

To such unsightly sufferings be debased 510 

Under inhuman pains? Why should not Man, 
Retaining still divine similitude 
In part, from such deformities be free. 
And for his Maker's image' sake exempt ? " 

•■' Their Maker's image," answered Michael, " then 
Forsook them, when tliemselves they vilified 
To serve ungoverned Appetite, and took 
His image whom they served — a brutish vice, 
Inductive mainly to the sin of Eve. 

Therefore so abject is their punishment, 520 

Disfiguring not God's likeness, but their own ; 
Or, if his likeness, by themselves defaced 
While they pervert pure Nature's healthful rules 
To loathsome sickness — worthily, since they 
God's image did not reverence in themselves." 

"I yield it just," said Adam, "and submit. 
But is there yet no other way, besides 
These painful passages, how we may come 
To death, and mix with our connatural dust ? " 

" There is," said Michael, " if thou well observe 530 

The rule of Not too inudi., by temperance taught 
In what thou eat'st and drink'st, seeking from thence 
Due nourishment, not gluttonous delight. 
Till many years over thy head return. 
So may'st thou live, till, like ripe fruit, thou drop 
Into thy mother's lap, or be with ease 
Gathered, not harshly plucked, for death mature. 
This is old age ; but then thou must outlive 
Thy youth, thy strength, thy beauty, which will change 
To withered, weak, and grey ; thy senses then, 540 

Obtuse, all taste of pleasure must forgo 



Book XI.] PARADISE LOST. 257 



To what thou hast ; and, for the air of youth, 
Hopeful and cheerful, in thy blood will reign 
A melancholy damp of cold and dry. 
To weigh thy spirits down, and last consume 
The balm of life." To whom our Ancestor: — 

"Henceforth I fly not death, nor would prolong 
Life much — bent rather how I may be quit. 
Fairest and easiest, of this cumbrous charge. 

Which I must keep till my appointed day 550 

Of rendering up, and patiently attend 
My dissolution." Michael replied: — 

"Nor love thy life, nor hate; but what thou liv'st 
Live well; how long or short permit to Heaven. 
And now prepare thee for another sight." 

He looked, and saw a spacious plain, whereon 
Were tents of various hue : by some were herds 
Of cattle grazing : others whence the sound 
Of instruments that made melodious chime 

Was heard, of harp and organ, and who moved 560 

Their stops and chords was seen: his volant touch 
Instinct through all proportions low and high 
Fled and pursued transverse the resonant fugue. 
In other part stood one who, at the forge 
Labouring, two massy clods of iron and brass 
Had melted (whether found where casual fire 
Had wasted woods, on mountain or in vale, 
Down to the veins of earth, thence gliding hot 
To some cave's mouth, or whether washed by stream 
From underground); the hquid ore he drained 570 

Into fit moulds prepared; from which he formed 
First his own tools, then what might else be wrought 
Fusil or graven in metal. After these. 
But on the hither side, a different sort 
From the high neighbouring hills, which was their seat, 
Down to the plain descended: by their guise 
Just men they seemed, and all their study bent 
To worship God aright, and know his works 
Not hid ; nor those things last which might preserve 
Freedom and peace to men. They on the plain 580 

Long had not walked when from the tents behold 
A bevy of fair women, richly gay 
In gems and wanton dress ! to the harp they sung 
Soft amorous ditties, and in dance came on. 
The men, though grave, eyed them, and let their eyes 
Rove without rein, till, in the amorous net 
Fast caught, they liked, and each his liking chose. 
And now of love they treat, till the evening-star, 



258 PARADISE LOST. [Book xi. 

Love's harbinger, appeared ; then, all in heat, 

They light the nuptial torch, and bid invoke 590 

Hymen, then first to marriage rites invoked : 

With feast and music all the tents resound. 

Such happy interview, and fair event 

Of love and youth not lost, songs, garlands, flowers, 

And charming symphonies, attached the heart 

Of Adam, soon inclined to admit delight. 

The bent of Nature ; which he thus expressed : — 

''Tme opener of mine eyes, prime Angel blest, 
Much better seems this vision, and more hope 
Of peaceful days portends, than those two past : 600 

Those were of hate and death, or pain much worse; 
Here Nature seems fulfilled in all her ends." 

To whom thus Michael : — " Judge not what is best 
By pleasure, though to Nature seeming meet, 
Created, as thou art, to nobler end. 
Holy and pure, conformity divine. 
Those tents thou saw'st so pleasant were the tents 
Of wickedness, wherein shall dwell his race 
Who slew his brother: studious they appear 

Of arts that polish life, inventors rare ; 610 

Unmindful of their Maker, though his Spirit 
Taught them ; but they his gifts acknowledged none. 
Yet they a beauteous off'spring shall beget ; 
For that fair female troop thou saw'st, that seemed 
Of goddesses, so blithe, so smooth, so gay. 
Yet empty of all good wherein consists 
Woman's domestic honour and chief praise ; 
Bred only and completed to the taste 
Of lustful appetence, to sing, to dance. 

To dress, and troll the tongue, and roll the eye ; — 620 

To these that sober race of men, whose lives 
Religious titled them the Sons of God, 
Shall yield up all their virtue, all their fame. 
Ignobly, to the trains and to the smiles 
Of these fair atheists, and now swim in joy 
(Erelong to swim at large) and laugh ; for which 
The world erelong a world of tears must weep." 

To whom thus Adam, of short joy bereft: — 
" O pity and shame, that they who to live well 
Entered so fair should turn aside to tread 630 

Paths indirect, or in the midway faint ! 
But still I see the tenor of Man's woe 
Holds on the same, from Woman to begin." 

''From Man's effeminate slackness it begins," 
Said the Angel, " who should better hold his place 



Book XI.] PARADISE LOST. 259 

By wisdom, and superior gifts received. 
But now prepare tliee for another scene." 

He looked, and saw wide territory spread 
Before him — towns, and rural works between, 
Cities of men with lofty gates and towers, 640 

Concourse in arms, fierce faces threatening war, 
Giants of mighty bone and bold emprise. 
Part wield their arms, part curb the foaming steed, 
Single or in array of battle ranged 
Both horse and foot, nor idly mustering stood. 
One way a band select from forage drives 
A herd of beeves, fair oxen and fair kine, 
From a fat meadow-ground, or fleecy flock. 
Ewes and their bleating lambs, over the plain. 
Their booty ; scarce with life the shepherds fly, 650 

But call in aid, which makes a bloody fray : 
With cruel tournament the squadrons join ; 
Where cattle pastured late, now scattered lies 
With carcasses and arms the ensanguined field 
Deserted. Others to a city strong 
Lay siege, encamped, by battery, scale, and mine. 
Assaulting ; others from the wall defend 
With dart and javelin, stones and sulphurous fire ; 
On each hand slaughter and gigantic deeds. 

In other part the sceptred haralds call 660 

To council in the city-gates : anon 
Grey-headed men and grave, with warriors mixed, 
Assemble, and harangues are heard ; but soon 
In factious opposition, till at last 
Of middle age one rising, eminent 
In wise deport, spake much of right and wrong, 
Of justice, of religion, truth, and peace. 
And judgment from above : him old and young 
Exploded, and had seized with violent hands, 
Had not a cloud descending snatched him thence, 670 

Unseen amid the throng. So violence 
Proceeded, and oppression, and sword-law. 
Through all the plain, and refuge none was found. 
Adam was all in tears, and to his guide 
Lamenting turned full sad: — "Oh, what are these? 
Death's ministers, not men! who thus deal death 
Inhumanly to men, and multiply 
Ten thousandfold the sin of him who slew 
His brother ; for of whom such massacre 

Make they but of their brethren, men of men? 680 

But who was that just man, whom had not Heaven 
Rescued, had in his righteousness been lost?'' 



26o PARADISE LOST. [Book xi. 



To whom thus Michael: — "These are the product 
Of those ill-mated marriages thou saw'st, 
Where good with bad were matched ; who of themselves 
Abhor to join, and, by imprudence mixed, 
Produce prodigious births of body or mind. 
Such were these Giants, men of high renown ; 
For in those days might only shall be admired, 
And valour and heroic virtue called. 690 

To overcome in battle, and subdue 
Nations, and bring home spoils with infinite 
Manslaughter, shall be held the highest pitch 
Of human glory, and, for glory done, 
Of triumph to be styled great conquerors. 
Patrons of mankind, gods, and sons of gods — 
Destroyers rightlier called, and plagues of men. 
Thus fame shall be achieved, renown on earth, 
And what most merits fame in silence hid. 

But he, the seventh from thee, whom thou beheld'^st 700 

The only righteous in a world perverse, 
And therefore hated, therefore so beset 
With foes, for daring single to be just, 
And utter odious truth, that God would come 
To judge them with his Saints — him the Most High, 
Rapt in a balmy cloud, with winged steeds, 
Did, as thou saw'st, receive, to walk with God 
High in salvation and the climes of bliss, 
Exempt from death, to show thee what reward 
Awaits the good, the rest what punishment; ' 710 

Which now direct thine eyes and soon behold." 

He looked, and saw the face of things quite changed. 
The brazen throat of war had ceased to roar ; 
All now was turned to jollity and game, 
To luxury and riot, feast and dance. 
Marrying or prostituting, as befell. 
Rape or adultery, where passing fair 
Allured them ; thence from cups to civil broils. 
At length a reverend sire among them came. 

And of their doings great dislike declared, 720 

And testified against their ways. He oft 
Frequented their assemblies, whereso met, 
Triumphs or festivals, and to them preached 
Conversion and repentance, as to souls 
In prison, under judgments imminent ; 
But all in vain. Which when he saw, he ceased 
Contending, and removed his tents far off; 
Then, from the mountain hewing timber tall. 
Began to build a vessel of huge bulk, 



Book XI.] PARADISE LOST. 261 

Measured by cubit, length, and breadth, and highth, 730 

Smeared round with pitch, and in the side a door 

Contrived, and of provisions laid in large 

For man and beast: when lo! a wonder strange! 

Of every beast, and bird, and insect small, 

Came sevens and pairs, and entered in, as taught 

Their order ; last, the sire and his three sons, 

With their four wives ; and God made fast the door. 

Meanwhile the South-wind rose, and, with black wings 

Wide-hovering, all the clouds together drove 

From under heaven ; the hills to their supply 740 

Vapour, and exhalation dusk and moist. 

Sent up amain ; and now the thickened sky 

Like a dark ceiling stood : down rushed the rain 

Impetuous, and continued till the earth 

No more was seen. The floating vessel swum 

Uplifted, and secure with beaked prow 

Rode tilting o''er the waves ; all dwellings else 

Flood overwhelmed, and them with all their pomp 

Deep under water rolled ; sea covered sea, 

Sea without shore : and in their palaces, 750 

Where luxury late reigned, sea-monsters whelped 

And stabled : of mankind, so numerous late. 

All left in one small bottom swum embarked. 

How didst thou grieve then, Adam, to behold 

The end of all thy offspring, end so sad, 

Depopulation! Thee another flood, 

Of tears and sorrow a flood thee also drowned. 

And sunk thee as thy sons ; till, gently reared 

By the Angel, on thy feet thou stood'st at last, 

Though comfortless, as when a father mourns 760 

His children, all in view destroyed at once, 

And scarce to the Angel utter'dst thus thy plaint : — 

"' O visions ill foreseen ! Better had I 
Lived ignorant of future — so had borne 
My part of evil only, each day's lot 
Enough to bear. Those now that were dispensed 
The burden of many ages on me light 
At once, by my foreknowledge gaining birth 
Abortive, to torment me, ere their being. 

With thought that they must be. Let no man seek 770 

Henceforth to be foretold w4iat shall befall 
Him or his children — evil, he may be sure, 
Which neither his foreknowing can prevent, 
And he the future evil shall no less 
In apprehension than in substance feel 
Grievous to bear. But that care now is past ; 



262 PARADISE LOST. [Book xi. 



Man is not whom to warn ; those fcAv escaped 

Famine and anguish will at last consume. 

Wandering that watery desert. I had hope. 

When violence was ceased and war on Earth, 780 

All would have then gone well, peace would have crowned 

With length of happy days the race of Man ; 

But I was far deceived, for now I see 

Peace to corrupt no less than war to waste. 

How comes it thus? Unfold, Celestial Guide, 

And whether here the race of Man will end." 

To whom thus Michael : — " Those whom last thou saw'st 
In triumph and luxurious wealth are they 
First seen in acts of prowess eminent 

And great exploits, but of true virtue void ; 790 

Who, having spilt much blood, and done much waste, 
Subduing nations, and achieved thereby 
Fame in the world, high titles, and rich prey, 
Shall change their course to pleasure, ease, and sloth, 
Surfeit, and lust, till wantonness and pride 
Raise out of friendship hostile deeds in peace. 
The conquered, also, and enslaved by war. 
Shall, with their freedom lost, all virtue lose. 
And fear of God — from whom their piety feigned 
In sharp contest of battle found no aid 800 

Against invaders ; therefore, cooled in zeal. 
Thenceforth shall practise how to live secure, 
Worldly or dissolute, on what their lords 
Shall leave them to enjoy; for the Earth shall bear 
More than enough, that temperance may be tried. 
So all shall turn degenerate, all depraved, 
Justice and temperance, truth and faith, forgot ; 
One man except, the only son of light 
In a dark age, against example good. 

Against allurement, custom, and a world 810 

Offended. Fearless of reproach and scorn. 
Or violence, he of their wicked ways 
Shall them admonish, and before them set 
The paths of righteousness, how much more safe 
And full of peace, denouncing wrath to come 
On their impenitence, and shall return 
Of them derided, but of God observed 
The one just man alive : by his command 
Shall build a wondrous ark, as thou beheld'st, 
To save himself and household from amidst 820 

A world devote to universal wrack. 
No sooner he, with them of man and beast 
Select for life, shall in the ark be lodged 



Book xi.] PARADISE LOST. 263 



And sheltered round, but all the cataracts 

Of Heaven set open on the Earth shall pour 

Rain day and night ; all fountains of the deep, 

Broke up, shall heave the ocean to usurp 

Beyond all bounds, till inundation rise 

Above the highest hills. Then shall this Mount 

Of Paradise by might of waves be moved 830 

Out of his place, pushed by the horned flood, 

With all his verdure spoiled, and trees adrift, 

Down the great river to the opening Gulf, 

And there take root, an island salt and bare, 

The haunt of seals, and ores, and sea-mews' clang — 

To teach thee that God attributes to place 

No sanctity, if none be thither brought 

By men who there frequent or therein dwell. 

And now what further shall ensue behold." 

He looked, and saw the ark hull on the flood, 840 

Which now abated ; for the clouds were fled, 
Driven by a keen North-wind, that, blowing dry, 
Wrinkled the face of deluge, as decayed ; 
And the clear sun on his wide watery glass 
Gazed hot, and of the fresh wave largely drew, 
As after thirst ; which made their flowing shrink 
From standing lake to tripping ebb, that stole 
With soft foot towards the deep, wdio now had stopt 
His sluices, as the heaven his windows shut. 

The ark no more now floats, but seems on ground, 850 

Fast on the top of some high mountain fixed. 
And now the tops of hills as rocks appear; 
With clamour thence the rapid currents drive 
Toward the retreating sea their furious tide. 
Forthwith from out the ark a raven flies. 
And, after him, the surer messenger, 
A dove, sent forth once and again to spy 
Green tree or ground whereon his foot may light ; 
The second time returning, in his bill 
An olive-leaf he brings, pacific sign. 860 

Anon dry ground appears, and from his ark 
The ancient sire descends, with all his train ; 
Then, with uplifted hands and eyes devout. 
Grateful to Heaven, over his head beholds 
A dewy cloud, and in the cloud a bow 
Conspicuous with three listed colours gay. 
Betokening peace from God, and covenant new. 
Whereat the heart of Adam, erst so sad. 
Greatly rejoiced ; and thus his joy broke forth : — 

" O thou, who future things canst represent 870 



264 



PARADISE LOST. 



[Book xi. 



As present, Heavenly Instructor, I revive 

At this last sight, assured that Man shall live, 

With all the creatures, and their seed preserve. 

Far less I now lament for one whole world 

Of wicked sons destroyed than I rejoice 

For one man found so perfect and so just 

That God vouchsafes to raise another world 

From him, and all his anger to forget. 

But say what mean those coloured streaks in Heaven : 

Distended as the brow of God appeased? 

Or serve they as a flowery verge to bind 

The fluid skirts of that same watery cloud, 

Lest it again dissolve and shower the Earth?" 

To whom the Archangel : — " Dextrously thou aim'st. 
So willingly doth God remit his ire: 
Though late repenting him of Man depraved, 
Grieved at his heart, when, looking down, he saw 
The whole Earth filled with violence, and all flesh 
Corrupting each their way; yet, those removed. 



880 



Such grace shall one just man find in his sight 

That he relents, not to blot out mankind. 

And makes a covenant never to destroy 

The Earth again by flood, nor let the sea 

Surpass his bounds, nor rain to drown the world 

With man therein or beast ; but, when he brings 

Over the Earth a cloud, will therein set 

His triple-coloured bow, whereon to look 

And call to mind his covenant. Day and night. 

Seed-time and harvest, heat and hoary frost, 

Shall hold their course, till fire purge all things new. 

Both Heaven and Earth, wherein the just shall dwell." 



890 



900 



THE END OF THE ELEVENTH BOOK. 



PARADISE LOST. 



BOOK XII. 



THE ARGUMENT. 



The Angel Michael continues, from the Flood, to relate what shall succeed; then, in 
the mention of Abraham, comes by degrees to explain who that Seed of the Woman shall be 
which was promised Adam and Eve in the Fall: his incarnation, death, resurrection, and 
ascension; the state of the Church till his second coming. Adam, greatly satisfied and re- 
comforted by these relations and promises, descends the hill with Michael; wakens Eve 
who all this while had slept, but with gentle dreams composed to quietness of mind and 
submission. Michael in either hand leads them out of Paradise, the fiery sword waving 
behind them, and the Cherubim taking their stations to guard the place. 

AS one who, in his journey, bates at noon, 
Though bent on speed, so here the Archangel paused 
Betwixt the world destroyed and world restored, 
If Adam aught perhaps might interpose ; 
Then, with transition sweet, new speech resumes : — 

" Thus thou hast seen one world begin and end, 
And Man as from a second stock proceed. 
Much thou hast yet to see ; but I perceive 
Thy mortal sight to fail ; objects divine 

Must needs impair and weary human sense. lo 

Henceforth what is to come I will relate ; 
Thou, therefore, give due audience, and attend. 

" This second source of men, while yet but few, 
And while the dread of judgment past remains 
Fresh in their minds, fearing the Deity, 
With some regard to what is just and right 
Shall lead their lives, and multiply apace. 
Labouring the soil, and reaping plenteous crop, 
Corn, wine, and oil ; and, from Uie herd or flock 
Oft sacrificing bullock, lamb, or kid, 20 

With large wine-offerings poured, and sacred feast, 
Shall spend their days in joy unblamed, and dwell 
Long time in peace, by families and tribes. 
Under paternal rule, till one shall rise, 

265 



266 PARADISE LOST. [Book xii. 

Of proud, ambitious heart, who, not content 

With fair equality, fraternal state, 

Will arrogate dominion undeserved 

Over his brethren, and quite dispossess 

Concord and law of Nature from the Earth — 

Hunting (and men, not beasts, shall be his game) 30 

With war and hostile snare such as refuse 

Subjection to his empire tyrannous. 

A mighty hunter thence he shall be styled 

Before the Lord, as in despite of Heaven, 

Or from Heaven claiming second sovranty, 

And from rebellion shall derive his name. 

Though of rebellion others he accuse. 

He, with a crew, whom like ambition joins 

With him or under him to tyrannize, 

Marching from Eden toward the west, shall find 40 

The plain, wherein a black bituminous gurge 

Boils out from under ground, the mouth of Hell. 

Of brick, and of that stuif, they cast to build 

A city and tower, whose top may reach to Heaven; 

And get themselves a name, lest, far dispersed 

In foreign lands, their memory be lost — 

Regardless whether good or evil fame. 

But God, who oft descends to visit men 

Unseen, and through their habitations walks, 

To mark their doings, them beholding soon, 50 

Comes down to see their city, ere the tower 

Obstruct Heaven-towers, and in derision sets 

Upon their tongues a various spirit, to rase 

Quite out their native language, and, instead, 

To sow a jangling noise of words unknown. 

Forthwith a hideous gabble rises loud 

Among the builders ; each to other calls, 

Not understood — till, hoarse and all in rage. 

As mocked they storm. Great laughter was in Heaven, 

And looking down to see the hubbub strange 60 

And hear the din. Thus was the building left 

Ridiculous, and the work Confusion named." 

Whereto thus Adam, fatherly displeased: — 
''O execrable son, so to aspire 
Above his brethren, to himself assuming 
Authority usurped, from God not given! 
He gave us only over beast, fish, fowl. 
Dominion absolute ; that right we hold 
By his donation : but man over men 

He made not lord — such title to himself 70 

Reserving, human left from human free. 



Book xii.] PARADISE LOST. 267 

But this usurper his encroachment proud 
Stays not on Man; to God his tower intends 
Siege and defiance. Wretched man! what food 
Will he convey up thither, to sustain 
Himself and his rash army, where thin air 
Above the clouds will pine his entrails gross, 
And famish him of breath, if not of bread?" 

To whom thus Michael : — " Justly thou abhorr'st 
That son, who on the quiet state of men 80 

Such trouble brought, affecting to subdue 
Rational liberty; yet know withal. 
Since thy original lapse, true liberty 
Is lost, which always wdth right reason dwells 
Twinned, and from her hath no dividual being. 
Reason in Man obscured, or not obeyed. 
Immediately inordinate desires 
And upstart passions catch the government 
From Reason, and to servitude reduce 

Man, till then free. Therefore, since he permits 90 

Within himself unworthy powers to reign 
Over free reason, God, in judgment just. 
Subjects him from without to violent lords. 
Who oft as undeservedly enthral 
His outward freedom. Tyranny must be. 
Though to the tyrant thereby no excuse. 
Yet sometimes nations will decline so low 
From virtue, which is reason, that no wrong, 
But justice and some fatal curse annexed. 

Deprives them of their outward liberty, 100 

Their inward lost : witness the irreverent son 
Of him who built the ark, who, for the shame 
Done to his father, heard this heavy curse. 
Servant of serva7its, on his vicious race. 
Thus will this latter, as the former world. 
Still tend from bad to worse, till God at last, 
Wearied with their iniquities, withdraw 
His presence from among them, and avert 
His holy eyes, resolving from thenceforth 

To leave them to their own polluted ways, no 

And one peculiar nation to select 
From all the rest, of whom to be invoked - 
A nation from one faithful man to spring. 
Him on this side Euphrates yet residing. 
Bred up in idol-worship — Oh, that men 
(Canst thou believe?) should be so stupid grown. 
While yet the patriarch lived who scaped the Flood, 
As to forsake the living God, and fall 



268 PARADISE LOST. [Book xii. 



To worship their own work in wood and stone 

For gods! — yet him God the Most High vouchsafes 120 

To call by vision from his father's house, 

His kindred, and false gods, into a land 

Which he will show him, and from him will raise 

A mighty nation, and upon him shower 

His benediction so that in his seed 

All nations shall be blest. He straight obeys; 

Not knowing to what land, yet firm believes. 

I see him, but thou canst not, with what faith 

He leaves his gods, his friends, and native soil, 

Ur of Chaldcea, passing now the ford 130 

To Haran — after him a cumbrous train 

Of herds and flocks, and numerous servitude — 

Not wandering poor, but trusting all his wealth 

With God, who called him, in a land unknown. 

Canaan he now attains ; I see his tents 

Pitched about Sechem, and the neighbouring plain 

Of Moreh. There, by promise, he receives 

Gift to his progeny of all that land, 

From Hamath northward to the Desert south 

(Things by their names I call, though yet unnamed), 140 

From Hermon east to the great western sea ; 

Mount Hermon, yonder sea, each place behold 

In prospect, as I point them : on the shore. 

Mount Carmel ; here, the double-founted stream, 

Jordan, true limit eastward ; but his sons 

Shall dwell to Senir, that long ridge of hills. 

This ponder, that all nations of the Earth 

Shall in his seed be blessed. By that seed 

Is meant thy great Deliverer, who shall bruise 

The Serpent's head ; whereof to thee anon 150 

Plainlier shall be revealed. This patriarch blest, 

Whom faitJifiil Abraham due time shall call, 

A son, and of his son a grandchild, leaves. 

Like him in faith, in wisdom, and renown. 

The grandchild, with twelve sons increased, departs 

From Canaan to a land hereafter called 

Egypt, divided by the river Nile ; 

See where it flows, disgorging at seven mouths 

Into the sea. To sojourn in that land 

He comes, invited by a younger son 160 

In time of dearth — a son whose worthy deeds 

Raise him to be the second in that realm 

Of Pharaoh. There he dies, and leaves his race 

Growing into a nation, and now grown 



Book XII.] PARADISE LOST. 269 



To stop their overgrowth, as inmate guests 

Too numerous ; whence of guests he makes them slaves 

Inhospitably, and kills their infant males: 

Till, by two brethren (those two brethren call 

Moses and Aaron) sent from God to claim 170 

His people from enthralment, they return, 

With glory and spoil, back to their promised land. 

But first the lawless tyrant, who denies 

To know their God, or message to regard, 

Must be compelled by signs and judgments dire : 

To blood unshed the rivers must be turned; 

Frogs, lice, and flies must all his palace fill 

With loathed intrusion, and fill all the land; 

His cattle must of rot and murrain die ; 

Botches and blains must all his flesh emboss, 180 

And all his people; thunder mixed with hail. 

Hail mixed with fire, must rend the Egyptian sky, 

And wheel on the earth, devouring where it rolls; 

What it devours not, herb, or fruit, or grain, 

A darksome cloud of locusts swarming down 

Must eat, and on the ground leave nothing green; 

Darkness must overshadow all his bounds. 

Palpable darkness, and blot out three days; 

Last, with one midnight-stroke, all the first-born 

Of Egypt must lie dead. Thus with ten wounds 190 

The river-dragon tamed at length submits 

To let his sojourners depart, and oft 

Humbles his stubborn heart, but still as ice 

More hardened after thaw; till, in his rage 

Pursuing whom he late dismissed, the sea 

Swallows him with his host, but them lets pass, 

As on dry land, between two crystal walls. 

Awed by the rod of Moses so to stand 

Divided till his rescued gain their shore: 

Such wondrous power God to his Saint will lend, 200 

Though present in his Angel, who shall go 

Before them in a cloud, and pillar of fire — 

By day a cloud, by night a pillar of fire — 

To guide them in their journey, and remove 

Behind them, while the obdurate king pursues. 

All night he will pursue, but his approach 

Darkness defends between till morning-watch; 

Then through the fiery pillar and the cloud 

God looking forth will trouble all his host. 

And craze their chariot-wheels: when, by command, 210 

Moses once more his potent rod extends 

Over the sea; the sea his rod obeys; 



270 PARADISE LOST. [Book xii. 



On their embattled ranks the waves return. 

And overwhelm their war. The race elect 

Safe towards Canaan, from the shore, advance 

Through the wild Desert — not the readiest way, 

Lest, entering on the Canaanite alarmed, 

War terrify them inexpert, and fear 

Return them back to Egypt, choosing rather 

Inglorious life with servitude; for life 220 

To noble and ignoble is more sweet 

Untrained in arms, where rashness leads not on. 

This also shall they gain by their delay 

In the wide wilderness : there they shall found 

Their government, and their great Senate choose 

Through the twelve tribes, to mle by laws ordained. 

God, from the Mount of Sinai, whose grey top 

Shall tremble, he descending, will himself, 

In thunder, lightning, and loud trumpet's sound, 

Ordain them laws — part, such as appertain 230 

To civil justice ; part, religious rites 

Of sacrifice, informing them, by types 

And shadows, of that destined Seed to bruise 

The Serpent, by what means he shall achieve 

Mankind's deliverance. But the voice of God 

To mortal ear is dreadful : they beseech 

That Moses might report to them his will. 

And terror cease ; he grants what they besought, 

Instructed that to God is no access 

Without Mediator, whose high office now 240 

Moses in figure bears, to introduce 

One greater, of whose day he shall foretell, 

And all the Prophets, in their age, the times 

Of great Messiah shall sing. Thus laws and rites . 

Established, such delight hath God in men 

Obedient to his will that he vouchsafes 

Among them to set up his tabernacle — 

The Holy One with mortal men to dwell. 

By his prescript a sanctuary is framed 

Of cedar, overlaid with gold ; therein 250 

An ark, and in the ark his testimony. 

The records of his covenant ; over these 

A mercy-seat of gold, between the wings 

Of two bright Cherubim ; before him burn 

Seven lamps, as in a zodiac representing 

The heavenly fires. Over the tent a cloud 

Shall rest by day, a fiery gleam by night. 

Save when they journey; and at length they come, 

Conducted by his Angel, to the land 



Book ^11.] ' PARADISE LOST. 271 

Promised to Abraham and his seed. The rest 260 

Were long to tell how many battles fought ; 
How many kings destroyed, and kingdoms won ; 
Or how the sun shall in mid-heaven stand still 
A day entire, and night's due course adjourn, 

'Sun, in Gibeon stand, 
in the vale of Aialon, 
Till Israel overcome!' — so call the third 
From Abraham, son of Isaac, and from him 
His whole descent, who thus shall Canaan win." 

Here Adam interposed : — " O sent from Heaven, 270 

Enlightener of my darkness, gracious things 
Thou hast revealed, those chiefly which concern 
Just Abraham and his seed. Now first I find 
Mine eyes true opening, and my heart much eased, 
Erewhile perplexed with thoughts what would become 
Of me and all mankind ; but now I see 
His day, in whom all nations shall be blest — 
Favour unmerited by me, who sought 
Forbidden knowledge by forbidden means. 

This yet I apprehend not — why to those 280 

Among whom God will deign to dwell on Earth 
So many and so various laws are given. 
So many laws argue so many sins 
Among them ; how can God with such reside ? '' 

To whom thus Michael : — " Doubt not but that sin 
Will reign among them, as of thee begot ; 
And therefore was law given them, to evince 
Their natural pravity, by stirring up 
Sin against Law to fight, that, when they see 

Law can discover sin, but not remove, 290 

Save by those shadowy expiations weak, 
The blood of bulls and goats, they may conclude 
Some blood more precious must be paid for Man, 
Just for unjust, that in such righteousness. 
To them by faith imputed, they may find 
Justification towards God, and peace 
Of conscience, which the law by ceremonies 
Cannot appease, nor man the moral part 
Perform, and not performing cannot live. 

So Law appears imperfect, and but given 300 

With purpose to resign them, in full time. 
Up to a better covenant, disciplined 
From shadowy types to truth, from flesh to spirit, 
From imposition of strict laws to free 
Acceptance of large grace, from servile fear 
To filial, works of law to works of faith. 



272 PARADISE LOST. [Book xii. 

And therefore shall not Moses, though of God 

Highly beloved, being but the minister 

Of Law, his people into Canaan lead ; 

But Joshua, whom the Gentiles Jesus call, 310 

His name and office bearing who shall quell 

The adversary Serpent, and bring back 

Through the world's wilderness long-wandered Man 

Safe to eternal Paradise of rest. 

Meanwhile they, in their earthly Canaan placed. 

Long time shall dwell and prosper, but when sins 

National interrupt their public peace. 

Provoking God to raise them enemies — 

From whom as oft he saves them penitent, 

By Judges first, then under Kings ; of whom 320 

The second, both for piety renowned 

And puissant deeds, a promise shall receive 

Irrevocable, that his regal throne 

For ever shall endure. The like shall sing 

All Prophecy — that of the royal stock 

Of David (so I name this king) shall rise 

A son, the Woman's Seed to thee foretold, 

Foretold to Abraham as in whom shall trust 

All nations, and to kings foretold of kings 

The last, for of his reign shall be no end. 330 

But first a long succession must ensue ; 

And his next son, for wealth and wisdom famed, 

The clouded ark of God, till then in tents 

Wandering, shall in a glorious temple enshrine. 

Such follow him as shall be registered 

Part good, part bad ; of bad the longer scroll : 

Whose foul idolatries and other faults. 

Heaped to the popular sum, will so incense 

God, as to leave them, and expose their land, 

Their city, his temple, and his holy ark, 340 

With all his sacred things, a scorn and prey 

To that proud city whose high walls thou saw'st 

Left in confusion, Babylon thence called. 

There in captivity he lets them dwell 

The space of seventy years ; then brings them back. 

Remembering mercy, and his covenant sworn 

To David, stablished as the days of Heaven, 

Returned from Babylon by leave of kings. 

Their lords, whom God disposed, the house of God 

They first re-edify, and for a while 350 

In mean estate live moderate, till, grown 

In wealth and multitude, factious they grow. 

But first among the priests dissension springs 



Book XII.] PARADISE LOST. 273 



Men who attend the altar, and should most 

Endeavour peace: their strife pollution brnigs 

Upon the temple itself; at last they seize 

The sceptre, and regard not David's sons; 

Then lose it to a stranger, that the true i 

Anointed King Messiah might be born 

Barred of his right. Yet at his birth a star, 30° 

Unseen before in heaven, proclaims him come, 

And guides the eastern sages, who inquire 

His place, to offer incense, myrrh, and gold: 

His place of birth a solemn Angel tells 

To simple shepherds, keeping watch by_ night ; 

They gladly thither haste, and by a quire 

Of squadroned Angels hear his carol sung. 

A Virgin is his motheV, but his sire 

The Power of the Most High. He shall ascend 

The throne hereditary, and bound his reign ^^ yjo 

With Earth's wide bounds, his glory with the Heavens. 

He ceased, discerning Adam with such joy 
Surcharged as had, like grief, been dewed in tears. 
Without the vent of words ; which these he breathed : — 

-' O prophet of glad tidings, finisher 
Of utmost hope! now clear I understand 
What oft my steadiest thoughts have searched in vain — 
Why our great Expectation should be called 
The Seed of Woman. Virgin Mother, hail! 

Hio-h in the love of Heaven, yet from my loins 30° 

Thou shalt proceed, and from thy womb the Son 

Of God Most High ; so God with Man unites. 

Needs must the Serpent now his capital bruise 

Expect with mortal pain. Say where and when 

Their fight, what stroke shall bruise the Victor s_ heel. 
To whom thus Michael : — " Dream not of their fight 

As of a duel, or the local wounds 

Of head or heel. Not therefore joins the Son 

Manhood to Godhead, with more strength to toil 

Thy enemy; nor so is overcome , 39 

Satan, whose fall from Heaven, a deadlier bruise, 

Disabled not to give thee thy death's wound ; 

Which he who comes thy Saviour shall recure, 

Not by destroying Satan, but his works 

In thee and in thy seed. Nor can this be. 

But by fulfilling that which thou didst want, 

Obedience to the law of God, imposed 

On penalty of death, and suffering death. 

The penalty to thy transgression due, 

And due to theirs which out of thine will grow : 400 



274 



PARADISE LOST. [Book xii. 



So only can high justice rest appaid. 

The Law of God exact he shall fultil 

Both by obedience and by love, though love 

Alone fulfil the Law; thy punishment 

He shall endure, by coming in the flesh 

To a reproachful life and cursed death, 

Proclaiming life to all who shall believe 

In his redemption, and that his obedience 

Imputed becomes theirs by faith — his merits 

To save them, not their own, though legal, works. 410 

For this he shall live hated, be blasphemed, 

Seized on by force, judged, and to death condemned 

A shameful and accursed, nailed to the cross 

By his own nation, slain for bringing life ; 

But to the cross he nails thy enemies — 

The Law that is against thee, and the sins 

Of all mankind, with him there crucified, 

Never to hurt them more who rightly trust 

In this his satisfaction. So he dies, 

But soon revives ; Death over him no power 420 

Shall long usurp. Ere the third dawning light 

Return, the stars of morn shall see him rise 

Out of his grave, fresh as the dawning light. 

Thy ransom paid, which Man from Death redeems — 

His death for Man, as many as offered life 

Neglect not, and the benefit embrace 

By faith not void of works. This godlike act 

Annuls thy doom, the death thou shouldst have died, 

In sin for ever lost from life ; this act 

Shall bruise the head of Satan, crush his strength, 430 

Defeating Sin and Death, his two main arms. 

And fix far deeper in his head their stings 

Than temporal death shall bruise the Victor's heel, 

Or theirs whom he redeems — a death like sleep, 

A gentle wafting to immortal life. 

Nor after resurrection shall he stay 

Longer on Earth than certain times to appear , . 

To his disciples — men who in his life 

Still followed him; to them shall leave in charge 

To teach all nations what of him they learned 44° 

And his salvation, them who shall believe 

Baptizing in the profluent stream — the sign 

Of washing them from guilt of sin to life 

Pure, and in mind prepared, if so befall. 

For death like that which the Redeemer died. 

All nations they shall teach ; for from that day 

Not only to the sons of Abraham's loins 



Book xii.] PARADISE LOST, 2js 



Salvation shall be preached, but to the sons 

Of Abraham's faith wherever through the world ; 

So in his seed all nations shall be blest. 450 

Then to the Heaven of Heavens he shall ascend 

With victory, triumphing through the air 

Over his foes and thine ; there shall surprise 

The Serpent, Prince of Air, and drag in chains 

Through all his realm, and there confounded leave ; 

Then enter into glory, and resume 

His seat at God"s right hand, exalted high 

Above all names in Heaven ; and thence shall come, 

When this World's dissolution shall be ripe. 

With glory and power, to judge both quick and dead — 460 

To judge the unfaithful dead, but to reward 

His faithful, and receive them into bliss. 

Whether in Heaven or Earth ; for then the Earth 

Shall be all Paradise, far happier place 

Than this of Eden, and far happier days.'' 

So spake the Archangel Michael ; then paused, 
As at the World's great period ; and our Sire, 
Replete with joy and wonder, thus replied : — 

" O Goodness infinite. Goodness immense, 
That all this good of evil shall produce, 470 

And evil turn to good — more w^onderful 
Than that which by creation first brought forth 
Light out of darkness! Full of doubt I stand, 
Whether I should repent me now of sin 
By me done and occasioned, or rejoice _ 
Much more that much more good thereof shall spring — 
To God more glory, more good-will to men 
From God — and over wrath grace shall abound. 
But say, if our Deliverer up to Heaven 

Must reascend, what will betide the few, 480 

His faithful, left among the unfaithful herd, 
The enemies of truth. Who then shall guide 
His people, who defend? Will they not deal 
Worse with his followers than with him they dealt?" 

" Be sure they will," said the Angel ; " but from Heaven 
He to his own a Comforter will send, 
The promise of the Father, who shall dwell. 
His Spirit, within them, and the law of faith 
Working through love upon their hearts shall write, 
To guide them in all tmth, and also arm 490 

With spiritual armour, able to resist 
Satan's assaults, and quench his fiery darts — 
What man can do against them not afraid, 
Though to the death ; against such cruelties 



276 PARADISE LOST. [Book xii. 



With inward consolations recompensed, 

And oft supported so as shall amaze 

Their proudest persecutors. For the Spirit, 

Poured first on his Apostles, whom he sends 

To evangelize the nations, then on all 

Baptized, shall them with wondrous gifts endue 500 

To speak all tongues, and do all miracles. 

As did their Lord before them. Thus they win 

Great numbers of each nation to receive 

With joy the tidings brought from Heaven : at length, 

Their ministry performed, and race well run. 

Their doctrine and their story written left. 

They die ; but in their room, as they forewarn. 

Wolves shall succeed for teachers, grievous wolves, 

Who all the sacred mysteries of Heaven 

To their own vile advantages shall turn 510 

Of lucre and ambition, and the truth 

With superstitions and traditions taint. 

Left only in those written records pure. 

Though not but by the Spirit understood. 

Then shall they seek to avail themselves of names, 

Places, and titles, and with these to join 

Secular power, though feigning still to act 

By spiritual ; to themselves appropriating 

The Spirit of God, promised alike and given 

To all believers ; and, from that pretence, 520 

Spiritual laws by carnal power shall force 

On every conscience — laws which none shall find 

Left them enrolled, or what the Spirit within 

Shall on the heart engrave. What will they then 

But force the Spirit of Grace itself, and bind 

His consort. Liberty? what but unbuild 

His living temples, built by faith to stand — 

Their own faith, not another's? for, on Earth, 

Who against faith and conscience can be heard 

Infallible? Yet many will presume: 530 

Whence heavy persecution shall arise 

On all who in the worship persevere 

Of Spirit and Truth ; the rest, far greater part. 

Will deem in outward rites and specious forms 

Religion satisfied ; Truth shall retire 

Bestuck with slanderous darts, and works of Faith 

Rarely be found. So shall the World go on, 

To good malignant, to bad men benign. 

Under her own weight groaning, till the day 

Appear of respiration to the just 540 

And vengeance to the wicked, at return 



Book xii.] PARADISE LOST. 2^7 

Of Him so lately promised to thy aid, 

The Woman's Seed — obscm-ely then foretold, 

Now amplier known thy Saviour and thy Lord ; 

Last in the clouds from Heaven to be revealed 

In glory of the Father, to dissolve 

Satan with his perverted World ; then raise 

From the conflagrant mass, purged and refined, 

New Heavens, new Earth, Ages of endless date 

Founded in righteousness and peace and love, 550 

To bring forth fruits, joy and eternal bliss." 

He ended ; and thus Adam last replied : — 
" How soon hath thy prediction. Seer blest, 
Measured this transient World, the race of Time, 
Till Time stand fixed! Beyond is all abyss — 
Eternity, whose end no eye can reach. 
Greatly instructed I shall hence depart. 
Greatly in peace of thought, and have my fill 
Of knowledge, what this vessel can contain ; 

Beyond which was my folly to aspire. 560 

Henceforth I learn that to obey is best, 
And love with fear the only God, to walk 
As in his presence, ever to observe 
His providence, and on him sole depend, 
Merciful over all his works, with good 
Still overcoming evil, and by small 
Accomplishing great things — by things deemed weak 
Subverting worldly-strong, and worldly-wise 
By simply meek ; that suffering for Truth's sake 
Is fortitude to highest victory, 57° 

And to the faithful death the gate of life — 
Taught this by his example whom I now 
Acknowledge my Redeemer ever blest." 

To whom thus also the Angel last replied: — 
*' This having learned, thou hast attained the sum 
Of wisdom ; hope no higher, though all the stars 
Thou knew'st by name, and all the ethereal powers, 
All secrets of the Deep, all Nature's works. 
Or works of God in heaven, air, earth, or sea, 
And all the riches of this world enjoy'dst, 580 

And all the rule, one empire. Only add 
Deeds to thy knowledge answerable ; add faith ; 
Add virtue, patience, temperance; add love, 
By name to come called Charity, the soul 
Of all the rest : then wilt thou not be loth 
To leave this Paradise, but shalt possess 
A Paradise within thee, happier far. 
Let us descend now, therefore, from this top 



278 PARADISE LOST. [Book xii. 

Of speculation ; for the hour precise 

Exacts our parting hence; and, see! the guards, 590 

By me encamped on yonder liill, expect 

Their motion, at whose front a flaming sword, 

In signal of remove, waves fiercely round. 

We may no longer stay. Go, waken Eve ; 

Her also I with gentle dreams have calmed, 

Portending good, and all her spirits composed 

To meek submission : thou, at season fit. 

Let her with thee partake what thou hast heard — 

Chiefly what may concern her faith to know, 

The great deliverance by her seed to come 600 

(For by the Woman^s Seed) on all mankind — 

That ye may live, which will be many days, 

Both in one faith unanimous ; though sad 

With cause for evils past, yet much more cheered 

With meditation on the happy end." 

He ended, and they both descend the hill. 
Descended, Adam to the bower where Eve 
Lay sleeping ran before, but found her waked ; 
And thus with words not sad she him received : — 

"Whence thou return'st and whither went^st I know; 610 

For God is also in sleep, and dreams advise, 
Which he hath sent propitious, some great good 
Presaging, since, with sorrow and heart's distress 
Wearied, I fell asleep. But now lead on; 
In me is no delay; with thee to go 
Is to stay here ; without thee here to stay 
Is to go hence unwiUing; thou to me 
Art all things under Heaven, all places thou, 
Who for my wilful crime art banished hence. 

This further consolation yet secure 620 

I carry hence : though all by me is lost, 
Such favour I unworthy am vouchsafed, 
By me the Promised Seed shall all restore." 

So spake our mother Eve; and Adam heard 
Well pleased, but answered not ; for now too nigh 
The Archangel stood, and from the other hill 
To their fixed station, all in bright array. 
The Cherubim descended, on the ground 
Gliding meteorous, as evening mist 

Risen from a river o'er the marish glides, 630 

And gathers ground fast at the labourer's heel 
Homeward returning. High in front advanced, 
The brandished sword of God before them blazed, 
Fierce as a comet ; which with torrid heat, 
And vapour as the Libyan air adust, 



BooKXiT.] PARADISE LOST. 279 

Began to parch that temperate clime ; whereat 
In either hand the hastening Angel caught 
Our lingering parents, and to the eastern gate 
Led them direct, and down the cliff as fast 

To the subjected plain — then disappeared. 640 

They, looking back, all the eastern side beheld 
Of Paradise, so late their happy seat. 
Waved over by that flaming brand ; the gate 
With dreadful faces thronged and fiery arms. 
. Some natural tears they dropped, but wiped them soon 
The world was all before them, where to choose 
Their place of rest, and Providence their guide. 
They, hand in hand, with wandering steps and slow, 
Through Eden took their solitary way. 



THE END. 



INTRODUCTION 



PARADISE REGAINED. 



■Paradise Regained seems to have been complete in manuscript before the 
publication of Paradise Lost. This we infer from an interesting passage in 
the Autobiography of the Quaker, Thomas Ellwood, in which he gives an 
account of the origin of Paradise Regained, and claims the credit of having 
suggested the subject to Milton. We have already seen (Introduction to 
Paradise Lost, p. 15) how young Ellwood, visiting Milton, in 1665, at the cot- 
tage in Chalfont St. Giles, Buckinghamshire, where he was then residing to 
avoid the Great Plague in London, had a manuscript given him by the poet, 
with a request to read it at his leisure, and return it with his judgment thereon. 
On taking this manuscript home with him, Ellwood tells us, he found it to be 
Paradise Lost. He then proceeds as follows: — " After I had, with the best 
" attention, read it through, I made him another visit, and returned him his 
" book, with due acknowledgment of the favour he had done me in communi- 
" eating it to me. He asked how I liked it, and what I thought of it; which 
" I modestly, but freely, told him : and, after some further discourse about it, 
"I pleasantly said to him, 'Thou hast said much here of Paradise Lost; but 
" what hast thou to say of Paradise Found? ' He made me no answer, but 
" sate some time in a muse, then brake off that discourse and fell upon another 
*' subject. After the sickness was over, and the city well cleansed and become 
" safely habitable again, he returned thither. And when, afterwards, I went 
*' to wait on him there (which I seldom failed of doing, whenever my occa- 
*' sions drew me to London), he showed me his second poem, called Paradise 
^^ Regained, and in a pleasant tone said to me, 'This is owing to you; for you 
" put it into my head by the question you put to me at Chalfont, which before 
" I had not thought of.' " * The inference from this passage may certainly be 
that the poem was at least begun in the cottage at Chalfont St. Giles (say in 
the winter of 1665-6), and that, if not finished there, it was finished in Milton's 
house in Artillery Walk, shortly after his return to town in 1666. When Para- 
dise Lost, therefore, was published in the autumn of 1667, its sequel, though 
kept back, was ready. 

* The History of the Life of Thomas Ellwood, Second Edition (1714), pp- 246, 247. 

281 



282 INTRODUCTION TO 



According to this calculation, the poem remained in manuscript for about 
four years. It was not published till 1 67 1, when Faj'adise Lost had been in 
circulation for four years, and when the first edition of that poem must have 
been nearly, if not quite, exhausted — for that edition was restricted to 1,500 
copies at the utmost, and Milton's receipt for the second five pounds, due, by 
agreement, on the sale of 1,300 of these copies, bears date April 26, 1669. 
But, for some reason or other, Simmons, the publisher of Paradise Lost, was 
delaying a second edition of that poem — which did not appear till 1674. It 
may have been owing to dissatisfaction with this delay on Milton's part that 
Milton did not put Par-adise Regained '\n\.o Simmons's hands, but had it printed 
(as appears) on his own account. Conjoining with it Samson Agonistes, which 
he also had for some time by him, or had just composed, he issued the two poems 
in a small octavo volume of 220 pages, with this general title-page — " Paradise 
^^ Regain'' d. A Poem. In IV. Books. To which is added Samson Agonistes. 
" The Anther John Milton. London, Printed by J. M. for John Starkey at 
''the Mitre in Fleetstreet, near Temple Bar. MDCLXXL:' There is no 
separate title-page to Paradise Regained ; which commences on the next leaf 
after this general title, and extends to p. 112 of the volume. Then there ig a 
separate title-leaf to Samson Agonistes ; which poem, occupying the rest of 
the volume, is separately paged. On the last leaf of the whole volume are 
two sets of Errata, entitled " Errata in the former Poem " and " Errata in the 
latter Poem." 

Not Samuel Simmons of the Golden Lion in Aldersgate Street, the pub- 
lisher of Paradise Lost, it will be seen, but John Starkey, of the Mitre in Fleet 
Street, was the publisher of the new volume. He was, however, the publisher 
only, or agent for the printer " J. M." Such, at all events, is the inference of 
so good an authority in such matters as the late Mr. Leigh Sotheby, who, 
after quoting the title of the volume, as above, adds : " It is interesting here to 
" notice that the initials of Milton occur in the imprint as the printer of the 
"volume. Such was frequently the case when a work was printed solely at 
" the expense of the author." * In connexion with which observation we may 
here note the entry of the volume in the books of the Stationers' Company : 

Septemb. 10, 1670: Mr. John Starkey entered for his copie, under the hands of Mr. Tho. 
Tomkyns and Mr. Warden Roper, a copie or Booke Intituled Paradise regain'd, A Poem in 
4 Booices. The Author John Milton. To which is added Samson Agonistes, a drammadic 
\_sic"\ Poem, by the same Author. 

The volume itself furnishes an additional item of information. On the page 
opposite the general title-page at the beginning is this brief imprint, " Licensed, 
July 2, 1670" — from which it appears that the necessary licence had been 
obtained by Milton from the censor Tomkyns. Apparently Tomkyns gave this 
licence more easily than he had given that for Paradise Lost. 

The volume containing the first editions of Paradise Regained and Samson 
Agonistes is handsome enough in appearance — the paper thicker than that of 
the first edition of Paradise Lost, and the type more distinct and more widely 
spaced. But the printing, especially the pointing, is not nearly so accurate. 
Within the first few pages one finds commas where there should be full stops 
or colons, and vice versd, and becomes aware that the person or persons who 
assisted Milton in seeing the volume through the press cannot have been so 

* Ramblings in the Elucidation of the Autograph of Milton, 1861, p. 83. 



PARADISE REGAINED. 283 

careful as those who performed the like duty for the former poem — where, 
though the pointing is not our modern pointing, it rarely conflicts with the 
sense. 

Whatever was the number of copies printed, it sufficed the demand during 
the rest of Milton's life, and for six years beyond. When he died in 1674, 
there was a second edition of the Paradise Lost, to be followed by a third in 
1678; but it was not till 1680 that there was a second edition of the Pa)-adise 
Regained and Samson. It was brought out by the same publisher, Starkey, 
and is of inferior appearance and getting-up to the first — the size still small 
octavo, but the type closer, so as to reduce the number of pages to 132. The 
title-pages remain the same; but the two poems are now paged continuously, 
and not separately. There seems to have been no particular care in revising 
for the press, for errors noted in the list of errata in the former edition remain 
uncorrected in the text of this. 

Third editions, both of the Paradise Regained O-ndi of the Samson^ appeared 
in folio in 1688, sold, either together or separately, by a new publisher — • 
Randal Taylor; and these are commonly found bound up with the fourth or 
folio edition of Paradise Lost, published by another bookseller in the same year. 
From this time forward, in fact, the connexion \)^\.\\t&n Paradise Regained ^.w^l 
Samson, originally accidental, is not kept up, save for mere convenience in 
publication. The tendency was to editions of all Milton's poetical works collec- 
tively — in which editions it was natural to put Paradise Lost first, then Paradise 
Regained, then Samson Agonistes, and after these the Minor Poems. The 
greater demand for Paradise Lost, however, making it convenient to divide the 
Poetical Works in publication, two methods of doing so presented themselves. 
On the one hand, there was an obvious propriety, if the Poems were to be divided 
at all, in detaching Paradise Regained koxn Samson and the rest, and attaching 
it to Paradise Lost; and, accordingly, there are instances of such conjoint edi- 
tions of Paradise Lost and Paradise Regained, apart from the other poems, in 
1692, 1775, and 1776. But a more convenient plan, mechanically, inasmuch 
as it divided the Poems collectively into two portions of nearly equal bulk, was 
to let Paradise Lost stand by itself in one or more volumes, and throw Paradise 
Regained, Samson, and the Minor Poems together into a separate issue in one 
or more volumes — the two sets combinable or not into a collective edition. 
This plan, first adopted by Tonson, in 1695, has prevailed since. 

There is not the least reason for doubting EUwood's statement as to the way 
in which the subject oi Paradise Regained was suggested to Milton. There is 
no such evidence as in the case oi Paradise Lost of long meditation of the 
subject previous to the actual composition of the poem. Among Milton's 
jottings, in 1640-1, of subjects for dramas, or other poems (see Introduction to 
Paradise Lost, p. 1 1 ), there are indeed several from the New Testament History. 
There is a somewhat detailed scheme of a drama, to be called Baptistes, on the 
subject of the death of John the Baptist at the hands of Herod. There are 
also seven notes of subjects from the Life of Christ — the first entitled Christus 
Patiens, accompanied by a few words which show that, under that title, Milton 
had an idea of a drama on the scene of the Agony in the Garden; the others 
entered simply as follows: '■^Christ Born,^^ ^^ Herod Massacring, or Rachel 
Weeping (Matt, ii.)," ''Christ Bound;' ''Christ Crucified;' "Christ Risen;' 
and "Lazarus (John xi.)." But not one of those eight subjects, thought of in 



284 INTRODUCTION TO 



Milton's early manhood, it will be seen, corresponds with the precise subject of 
Paradise Regamed, executed when he was verging on sixty. The subject of 
that poem is expressly and exclusively the Temptation of Christ by the Devil 
in the Wilderness, after his baptism by John, as related in Matt. iv. i-ii, 
Mark i. 12, 13, and Luke iv. 1-13. Commentators on the Poem, indeed, 
have remarked it as somewhat strange that Milton should have given so 
general a title as " Paradise Regained " to a poem representing only this 
particular passage of the Gospel History. For the subject of the Poem is thus 
announced in the opening lines — 

" I, who erewhile the happy Garden sung 
By one man's disobedience lost, now sing 
Recovered Paradise to all mankind, 
By one man's firm obedience fully tried 
Through all temptation, and the Tempter foiled 
In all his wiles, defeated and repulsed, 
And Eden raised in the waste Wilderness." 

On which passage, and on the Poem generally, a commentator (Thyer), repre- 
senting a general feehng, makes this remark : " It may seem a little odd that 
" Milton should impute the recovery of Paradise to this short scene of our 
" Saviour's life upon earth, and not rather extend it to His Agony, Crucifixion, 
"&c. But the reason, no doubt, was that Paradise regained by our Saviour's 
" resisting the temptation of Satan might be a better contrast to Paradise lost 
" by our first parents too easily yielding to the same seducing Spirit." This 
remark is perfectly just; but it receives elucidation and point from EUwood's 
story of the way in which the poem came into existence. 

Only by firmly remembering that it was as a sequel to Paradise Lost that 
Paradise Regained grew into shape in Milton's mind, will the second poem 
be rightly understood. The commentators, indeed, as they have sought the 
" origin of Paradise Lost," or hints for its origin, in all sorts of previous poems, 
Italian, Latin, and Dutch, on the same subject (see our Introduction to the 
Poem), have, though less laboriously, searched for previous poems from which 
Milton may have taken hints for his Paradise Regained. Todd, in his pre- 
liminary observations entitled " Origin of Paradise Regained," refers to the fol- 
lowing pieces as possibly in Milton's recollection while he was writing the Poem, 
— Bale's Brefe Comedy or Enterlude cancer nynge the Temptacyon of our Lorde 
and Saver yesus Christ by Sathan in the Desart (1538) ; Giles P'letcher's Christ's 
Victorie and Triuitiph (161 1), a poem in four parts, the second of which, entitled 
"Christ's Triumph on Earth," describes the Temptation; also La LLiimanita 
del Figlivolo di Dio, a poem in ten books, by Theofilo Folengo of Mantua 
(1533) ; La Vita et Passione di Christo, a poem by Antonio Cornozano (1518) ; 
and one or two other Italian poems cited at random for their titles and not 
from knowledge. The only one of these references worth much is that to Giles 
Fletcher's religious poem. Giles Fletcher (died 1623), and his brother Phineas 
Fletcher, who outlived him more than twenty-five years, were among the truest 
poets in the interval between Spenser and Milton, and the highest in that ideal 
or Spenserian faculty which Milton possessed and admired. He must have 
known the works of both brothers well, and not least the really fine poem of 
Giles Fletcher to which Todd refers. But recollection of it can have had no 
effect on the scheme of his own Paradise Regained. That was determined 
simply by the poet's own meditations on those passages of the Evangelists 



PARADISE REGAINED. 285 

which narrate the Temptation in the Wilderness, — especially the eleven verses 
in Matt. iv. and the thirteen in Luke iv, — with a view to construct therefrom an 
imagination of the whole scene, which, while it should be true to the scrip- 
tural text, should fit as a sequel to Paradise Lost. The result was the poem 
as we now have it — a poem in which the brief scriptural narrative of the Temp- 
tation is expanded into four books, and yet the additions and filling-in are 
consistent with the texts which have suggested them. 

So distinctly is Paradise Regained z. sequel to Paradise Lost that acquaintance 
with Paradise Lost is all but presupposed in the reader ere he begins the shorter 
poem. Such acquaintance, indeed, is not absolutely necessary; but it con- 
duces to a more exact understanding of the total meaning of the poem, and of 
not a few individual passages in it. Indeed, even that diagram of Universal 
Space or physical Infinitude which was before the poet's mind, as we have 
seen, throughout Paradise Lost (see our Introduction to that Poem), is still 
present to his mind, though more dimly, in Paradise Regained. 

The result of Satan's triumph in Paradise Lost, it is to be remembered, was 
that he and his crew of Fallen Angels had succeeded in adding the " orbicular 
World " of Man, i.e. the whole Starry Universe with the Earth at its centre, 
to that infernal Empire of Hell to which they had been driven down on their 
expulsion from Heaven or the Empyrean. At the close of the real action of 
the great epic this is what we find Satan and Sin congratulating themselves 
upon (Book X. 350 — 409) — that Man's World has now been wrested from 
the Empire of Heaven above, and annexed to that of Hell beneath. An inter- 
communication has been established between Hell and Man's World, and it 
is hinted that thenceforward the Fallen Angels will not dwell so much in their 
main dark dominion of Hell as in the more lightsome World overhead, to 
which access is now easy. Distributing themselves through this World, they 
will rule its spheres and its elements; but more especially will they congregate 
in the Air round the central Earth, so as to intermingle with human affairs 
continually and exercise their diabolic functions on the successive generations 
of men. They — originally Angels in the Empyreal Heaven, then doomed 
spirits in Hell — will now be the " Powers of the Air," round about the Earth, 
and the Gods of Man's World. So they anticipate, and, over and over again 
throughout the poem, we are reminded that their anticipation has been ful- 
filled. What is the theory throughout Paradise Lost but that the gods of all 
the heathen mythologies, worshipped by all the nations, are the Fallen Angels 
who, in their new condition as Demons of Man's World and Powers of the Air, 
have so blinded and drugged the perceptions and imaginations of men as to be 
accepted as divinities? 

Well, in Paradise Regaijted all this is assumed. It is assumed that for some 
thousands of years these "Powers of the Air," alias Devils, alias gods of the 
Polytheistic Mythologies, have been in possession of Man's World, distributed 
some here, some there, according to their characters and faculties of mischief, 
but occasionally meeting in council somewhere in the element of Air or Mist. 
Satan is still their chief — the greatest in power and in ability, the leader in their 
councils, their governor, and the director of their common enterprises. He is 
no longer quite the same sublime spirit as in the Paradise Lost, in whom were 
to be discerned the majestic lineaments of the Archangel just ruined. The 
thousands of years he has spent since then in his self-selected function as the 
devil of our Earth, — no longer flying from star to star and through the grander 



286 INTRODUCTION TO 



regions of Universal Space, but winging about constantly close to our Earth, 
and meddling incessantly with all that is worst in merely terrestrial affairs, — 
have told upon his nature, and even upon his mien and bearing. He is a 
meaner, shrewder spirit, both morally and physically less impressive. But he 
has not yet degenerated into the mere scoffing Mephistopheles of Goethe's 
great poem. He retains something of his former magnanimity, or at least of 
his power of understanding and appealing to the higher motives of thought 
and action. Whatever of really great invention or wisdom remains among the 
diabolic host in their diffusion through Man's World and its elements is still 
chiefly lodged in him. He it is, accordingly, who, in his vigilance as to what 
goes on on Earth, is the first to become aware of the advent of one who may 
possibly be that prophesied " greater Man " who is to retrieve the conse- 
quences of Adam's fall, end the diabolic influence in Man's World, and recon- 
nect that World with Heaven. He it is who, as soon as he has made this" 
discovery, summons the diabohc crew to consultation; and the farther trial of 
Christ's virtue likewise devolves on him. 

The greater portion of the first book of the Poem is preUminary to the real 
action. It describes the baptism of Christ, when about thirty years of age, 
and as yet obscure and unknown, by John at Bethabara on the Jordan, the 
recognition of him by John, the proclamation from Heaven of his Messiahship, 
the presence of Satan among those who hear this proclamation, and his alarm 
thereupon. A few days are then supposed to elapse, during which Christ 
remains in his lodging in Bethabara, the object now of much public regard, 
and with his first disciples gathering round him; after which he is led by the 
Spirit into the wilderness, there to revolve his past life, and meditate on 
the ministry he is about to begin. It is after he has been already forty days in 
the Desert, and has begun to feel hunger, that the special action of the Poem 
opens (I. 303). It extends over three days. On the first day (the fortieth, it 
is to be supposed, of Christ's stay in the Wilderness,) we have Satan's presen- 
tation of himself to Christ in the guise of an old peasant, their first discourse, 
and the commencement of the Temptation in the manner in which it is related 
both in Matthew and in Luke — to wit, by the suggestion to Christ that he 
should prove his divinity by turning the stones around him into bread. This 
part of the relation occupies the remainder of Book I., which ends with a de- 
scription of the coming on of night in the Desert. In Book II. the relation is 
resumed — about half the Book being occupied with an episodic account of the 
perplexity of Mary and the disciples by reason of Christ's mysterious absence, 
and an account also of a second council of the Evil Spirits to advise with 
Satan on his farther proceedings; but the remainder of the Book bringing us 
back to the Desert, where Satan, early in the second day, renews the tempta- 
tion. This second day's temptation is the most protracted and laborious, and 
the account of it extends from Book II, through the whole of Book III. and 
over two-thirds of Book IV. It is here that Milton has allowed his imagi- 
nation the largest liberty in expanding the brief hints of the scriptural texts. 
Both in Matthew and in Luke the acts of the Temptation are represented as 
three. There is the Temptation of the Bread, or the appeal to Christ's hun- 
ger, which is put first by both Evangelists : there is the Temptation of the 
Vision of the Kingdoms of the Earth from a mountain-top, or the appeal to 
Christ's ambition — which Luke puts second in order, but Matthew last; and 
there is the Temptation on the pinnacle of the Temple, or, as it may be called, 



PARADISE REGAINED. 287 

the appeal to vanity — which Matthew puts second, but Luke last. Milton, 
assigning a separate day to each act of the Temptation, follows Luke's order 
rather than Matthew's in the last two acts, and devotes the second day to the 
appeal to Christ's ambition. But he adds a variety of circumstances. He begins 
the day, for example, with a repetition of the hunger-temptation of the previous 
day, and then passes on to subtle appeals to the higher appetites of wealth and 
power, so as to prepare the way for the vision of the Kingdoms of the Earth 
from the mountain-top. Milton's management of this vision (which begins at 
line 251 of Book IIL and extends to line 393 of Book IV.) has hardly met 
with sufficient admiration. He contrives to make it not only a splendid, but 
also a most accurate, general view of the political condition of the earth at the 
time referred to, when the Parthians in the East and the Romans in the West 
were the great rival powers that had swamped all others ; and by thus suppos- 
*ing Satan to have based his temptation on the actual state of the world, and a 
calculation of what might be done by the genius of a bold adventurer striking 
in, at that particular juncture, between the Romans and -the Parthians, he 
imparts to it a character of high Machiavellian ability. But the Temptation 
passes into still a new vein at the close, where, the direct appeal to political 
ambition having failed, Satan, with Athens in view instead of Rome, tries to 
work on the passion for purely intellectual distinction. This too failing, the 
second day's temptation is at an end, and there is the return from the mountain- 
top to the wilderness, where Christ is left alone during a night of storm and 
ghastliness. There remains then only the final act of the Temptation, reserved 
for the third day — the temptation on the pinnacle of the Temple. Although 
Milton has also put his own interpretation on this portion of the Temptation, 
working up to the actual transportation of Christ to the pinnacle, and the chal- 
lenge of his power there, by previous questionings of Satan whether, after all, he 
is the " Son of God " in any very extraordinary sense, yet a comparatively brief 
space suffices both for the discourse leading up to the incident and for the 
incident itself. The third day's temptation, indeed, encroaching only a little 
on that day, and not protracted over the whole of it, occupies only about the 
last third of Book IV. One sees, at the close of the poem, why Milton pre- 
ferred Luke's arrangement of the three acts of the Temptation to Matthew's. 
The reservation of the incident on the pinnacle of the Temple to the last enables 
the poet to close with that fine visual effect of Christ standing alone on the 
pinnacle, after Satan's inglorious fall, till the fiery globe of ministering Angels 
surround him, and bear him in safety to Earth on their wings as on a floating 
couch. Down they bear him to a flowery valley, and to the celestial food spread 
out for him there ; he refreshes himself therewith while the Angels above sing 
a hymn of his victory and its consequences; then, rising, he finds his way 
unobserved to his mother's house. 

Speaking of Paradise Regained, Milton's nephew, Phillips, says (Life of 
Milton, 1694) : " It is generally censured to be much inferior to the other {i.e. 
"to Paradise Lost), though he (Milton) could not hear with patience any such 
" thing when related to him." Tradition, as usual, has exaggerated this state- 
ment, until now the current assertion is that Milton preferred Paradise Regained 
to Paradise Lost. We may safely say that he knew better than to do any such 
thing. But, probably, in that "general censure" of the inferiority of the 
smaller poem, which had begun, according to Phillips, even during the three 
years that were spared Milton to note its reception, he discovered critical 



288 INTRODUCTION. 



misconceptions which have transmitted themselves to our time. " Is Paradise 
Regained complete or not ? " is a question on which a good deal has been 
written by Peck, Warburton, Newton, and others. The sole reason for think- 
ing that it is incomplete, and that possibly the four books of the Poem as it 
now stands were originally intended only as part of a much larger poem, is 
founded on the smallness of that portion of Christ's life which is embraced in 
the poem, and on the stopping short of that consummation which would have 
completed the antithesis to Paradise Lost — i.e. the expulsion of Satan and his 
crew out of the human World altogether back to Hell. This objection has 
already been discussed, and found invalid. By no protraction of the poem 
over the rest of Christ's life, we may also remark, could Milton have brought 
the story to the consummation thought desirable. The virtual deliverance of 
the World from the power of Satan and his crew may be represented as achieved 
in Christ's life on earth, and Milton represents it as achieved in Christ's first' 
encounter with Satan at the outset of his ministry; but the acttial or physical 
expulsion of the Evil Spirits out of their usurped world into their own nether 
realm was left a matter of prophecy or promise, and was certainly not re- 
garded by Milton as having been accomplished even at the time when he 
wrote. Such completion of the poem, therefore, as could be given to it by 
working it on to this historical consummation, was impossible. But, in short, 
by publishing the poem as it stands, Milton certified its completeness according 

to his own idea of the theme. " Well, then," some of the critics continue, 

raising a second question, " can the poem properly be called an epic? " They 
have in view the Iliad, the Odyssey, and the y^neid, as the types of epics; 
and, allowing that Paradise Lost may rank as also an epic, they think Para- 
dise Regained too short and too simple for such a name. But Milton had 
anticipated the objection as early as 1641, when, in his Reason of Church- 
Government, speaking of his literary schemes, he had discriminated two kinds 
of epics, of which he might have the option, if he should ultimately determine 
on the epic form of composition as the best for his genius. "That epick 
" form," he had said, " whereof the two poems of Homer, and those other two 
" of Virgil and Tasso are a diffuse, and the Book of Job a /;;-?>/" model." May 
we not say that, whereas in Paradise Lost he had adopted the larger or more 
diffuse of the two models of epic here described, so in Paradise Regained he 
had in view rather the smaller or briefer model? This would put the matter 
on its right footing. Paradise Regained is a different poem from Paradise 
Lost — not so great, because not admitting of being so great; but it is as good 
in its different kind. The difference of kinds between the two poems is even 
signalized in certain differences in the language and versification. Paradise 
Regained seems written more hurriedly than Paradise Lost, and, though with 
passages of great beauty, with less avoidance of plain historical phrases, and 
less care to give to all the effect of continued song. 



PARADISE REGAINED 

A POEM IN FOUR BOOKS. 
THE AUTHOR 

JOHN MILTON. 



PARADISE REGAINED. 



THE FIRST BOOK. 



I WHO erewhile the happy Garden sung 
) By one man's disobedience lost, now sing 
Recovered Paradise to all mankind, 
By one man's firm obedience fully tried 
Through all temptation, and the Tempter foiled 
In all his wiles, defeated and repulsed. 
And Eden raised in the waste Wilderness. 

Thou Spirit, who led'st this glorious Eremite 
Into the desert, his victorious field 

Against the spiritual foe, and brought'st him thence lo 

By proof the undoubted Son of God, inspire, 
As thou art wont, my prompted song, else mute, 
And bear through highth or depth of Nature's bounds, 
With prosperous wing full summed, to tell of deeds \ 

Above heroic, though in secret done, 
And vmrecorded left through many an age : 
Worthy to have not remained so long unsung. 

Now had the great Proclaimer, with a voice 
More awful than the sound of trumpet, cried 
Repentance, and Heaven's kingdom nigh at hand 20 

To all baptized. To his great baptism flocked 
With awe the regions round, and with them came 
From Nazareth the son of Joseph deemed 
To the flood Jordan — came as then obscure, 
Unmarked, unknown. But him the Baptist soon 
Descried, divinely warned, and witness bore 
As to his worthier, and would have resigned 
To him his heavenly office. Nor was long 
His witness unconfirmed : on him baptized 
Heaven opened, and in likeness of a dove 30 

291 



292 PARADISE REGAINED. [Booic i. 



The Spirit descended, while the Father's voice 

From Heaven pronounced him his beloved vSon. 

That heard the Adversary, who, roving still 

About the world, at that assembly famed 

Would not be last, and, with the voice divine 

Nigh thunder-struck, the exalted man to whom 

Such high attest was given a while surveyed 

With wonder; then, with envy fraught and rage, 

Flies to his place, nor rests, but in mid air 

To council summons all his mighty peers, 40 

Within thick clouds and dark tenfold involved, 

A gloomy consistory ; and then amidst. 

With looks aghast and sad, he thus bespake : — 

"O ancient Powers of Air and this wide World 
(For much more willingly I mention Air. 
This our old conquest, than remember Hell, 
Our hated habitation), well ye know 
How many ages, as the years of men. 
This Universe we have possessed, and ruled 

In manner at our will the affairs of Earth, 50 

Since Adam and his facile consort Eve 
Lost Paradise, deceived by me, though since 
With dread attending when that fatal wound 
Shall be inflicted by the seed of Eve 
Upon my head. Long the decrees of Heaven 
Delay, for longest time to Him is short ; 
And now, too soon for us, the circling hours 
This dreaded time have compassed, wherein we 
Must bide the stroke of that long-threatened wound 
(At least, if so we can, and by the head 60 

Broken be not intended all our power 
To be infringed, our freedom and our being 
In this fair empii-e won of Earth and Air) — 
For this ill news I bring : The Woman^s Seed, 
Destined to this, is late of woman born. 
His birth to our just fear gave no small cause ; 
But his growth now to youth's full flower, displaying 
All virtue, grace and wisdom to achieve 
Things highest, greatest, multiplies my fear. 

Before him a great Prophet, to proclaim 70 

His coming, is sent harbinger, who all 
Invites, and in the consecrated stream 
Pretends to wash off sin, and fit them so 
Purified to receive him pure, or rather 
To do him honour as their King. All come. 
And he himself among them was baptized — 
Not thence to be more pure, but to receive 



Book i.] fARAD/SE REG A /NED. 293 

The testimony of Heaven, that who he is 

Thenceforth the nations may not doubt. I saw 

The Prophet do him reverence ; on him, rising 80 

Out of the water, Heaven above the clouds 

Unfold her crystal doors ; thence on his head 

A perfect dove descend (whatever it meant) ; 

And out of Heaven the sovran voice I heard, 

'This is my Son beloved, — in him am pleased.' 

His mother, then, is mortal, but his Sire 

He who obtains the monarchy of Heaven ; 

And what will He not do to advance his Son? 

His first-begot we know, and sore have felt, 

When his fierce thunder drove us to the Deep ; 90 

Who this is we must learn, for Man he seems 

In all his lineaments, though in his face 

The glimpses of his Father's glory shine. 

Ye see our danger on the utmost edge 

Of hazard, which admits no long debate. 

But must with something sudden be opposed 

(Not force, but well-couched fraud, well-woven snares), 

Ere in the head of nations he appear. 

Their king, their leader, and supreme on Earth. 

I, when no other durst, sole undertook 100 

The dismal expedition to find out 

And ruin Adam, and the exploit performed 

Successfully : a calmer voyage now 

Will waft me ; and the way found prosperous once 

Induces best to hope of like success." 

He ended, and his words impression left 
Of much amazement to the infernal crew. 
Distracted and surprised with deep dismay 
At these sad tidings. But no time was then 

For long indulgence to their fears or grief: no 

Unanimous they all commit the care 
And management of this main enterprise 
To him, their great Dictator, whose attempt 
At first against mankind so well had thrived 
In Adam's overthrow, and led their march 
From Heirs deep-vaulted den to dwell in light, 
Regents, and potentates, and kings, yea gods. 
Of many a pleasant realm and province wide. 
So to the coast of Jordan he directs 

His easy steps, girded with snaky wiles, 120 

Where he might likeliest find this new-declared. 
This man of men, attested Son of God, 
Temptation and all guile on him to try — 
So to subvert whom he suspected raised 



To end his reign on Earth so long enjoyed: 
But, contrary, unweeting he fulfilled 
The purposed counsel, pre-ordained and fixed, 
Of the Most High, who, in full frequence bright 
Of Angels, thus to Gabriel smiling spake : — 

"Gabriel, this day, by proof, thou shalt behold 130 

Thou and all Angels conversant on Earth 
With Man or menu's affairs, how I begin 
To verify that solemn message late, 
On which I sent thee to the Virgin pure 
In Galilee, that she should bear a son, 
Great in renown, and called the Son of God. 
Then told'st her, doubting how these things could be 
To her a virgin, that on her should come 
The Holy Ghost, and the power of the Highest 
Overshadow her. This Man, born and now upgrown, 140 

To show him worthy of his birth divine 
And high prediction, henceforth I expose 
To Satan ; let him tempt, and now assay 
His utmost subtlety, because he boasts 
And vaunts of his great cunning to the throng 
Of his apostasy. He might have learnt 
Less overweening, since he failed in Job, 
Whose constant perseverance overcame 
Whatever his cruel malice could invent. ' 

He now shall know I can produce a man, 150 

Of female seed, far abler to resist 
All his solicitations, and at length 
All his vast force, and drive him back to Hell — 
Winning by conquest what the first man lost 
By fallacy surprised. But first I mean 
To exercise him in the Wilderness ; 
There he shall first lay down the rudiments 
Of his great warfare, ere I send him forth 
To conquer Sin and Death, the two grand foes. 
By humiliation and strong sufferance 160 

His weakness shall o''ercome Satanic strength, 
And all the world, and mass of sinful flesh ; 
That all the Angels and ethereal Powers — 
They now, and men hereafter — may discern 
From what consummate virtue I have chose 
This perfect man, by merit called my Son, 
To earn salvation for the sons of men." 

So spake the Eternal Father, and all Heaven 
Admiring stood a space ; then into hymns 
Burst forth, and in celestial measures moved, 170 



Book i.] 'PARADISE REGAINED. 295 

Circling the throne and singing, while the hand 
Sung with the voice, and this the argument : — 

" Victory and triumph to the Son of God, 
Now entering his great duel, not of arms. 
But to vanquish by wisdom hellish wiles! 
The Father knows the Son ; therefore secure 
Ventures his filial virtue, though untried, 
Against whatever may tempt, whatever seduce, 
Allure, or terrify, or undermine. 

Be frustrate, all ye stratagems of Hell, 180 

And, devilish machinations, come to naught!" 

So they in Heaven their odes and vigils tuned. 
Meanwhile the Son of God, who yet some days 
Lodged in Bethabara, where John baptized. 
Musing and much revolving in his breast 
How best the mighty work he might begin 
Of Saviour to mankind, and which way first 
Publish his godlike ofiice now mature. 
One day forth walked alone, the Spirit leading 
And his deep thoughts, the better to converse 190 

With solitude, till, far from track of men. 
Thought following thought, and step by step led on, 
He entered now the bordering Desert wild, 
And, wdth dark shades and rocks environed round, 
His holy meditations thus pursued : — 

" O what a multitude of thoughts at once 
Aw^akened in me swarm, while I consider 
What from within I feel myself, and hear 
What from without comes often to my ears, 

111 sorting with my present state compared! 200 

When I was yet a child, no childish play 
To me was pleasing ; all my mind was set 
Serious to learn and know, and thence to do, 
What might be public good; myself I thought 
Born to that end, born to promote all truth, 
All righteous things. Therefore, above my years, 
The Law of God I read, and found it sweet ; 
Made it my whole delight, and in it grew 
To such perfection that, ere yet my age 

Had measured twice six years, at our great Feast 210 

I went into the Temple, there to hear 
The teachers of our Law, and to propose 
What might improve my knowledge or their own. 
And was admired by all. Yet this not all 
To which my spirit aspired. Victorious deeds 
Flamed in my heart, heroic acts — one while 



296 PARADISE REGAINED. [Book i. 

To rescue Israel from the Roman yoke ; 

Then to subdue and quell, o'er all the earth, 

Bnite violence and proud tyrannic power, 

Till truth were freed, and equity restored : 220 

Yet held it more humane, more heavenly, first 

By winning words to conquer willing- hearts, 

And make persuasion do the work of fear ; 

At least to try, and teach the erring soul, 

Not wilfully misdoing, but unware 

Misled ; the stubborn only to subdue. 

These growing thoughts my mother soon perceiving. 

By words at times cast forth, inly rejoiced, 

And said to me apart, ' High are thy thoughts, 

O Son! but nourish them, and let them soar 230 

To what highth sacred virtue and true worth 

Can raise them,- though above example high ; 

By matchless deeds express thy matchless Sire. 

For know, thou art no son of mortal man ; 

Though men esteem thee low of parentage, 

Thy Father is the Eternal King who rules 

All Heaven and Earth, Angels and sons of men. 

A messenger from God foretold thy birth 

Conceived in me a virgin ; he foretold 

Thou shouldst be great, and sit on David's throne, 240 

And of thy kingdom there should be no end. 

At thy nativity a glorious quire 

Of Angels, in the fields of Bethlehem, sung 

To shepherds, watching at their folds by night 

And told them the Messiah now was born. 

Where they might see him ; and to thee they came, 

Directed to the manger where thou lay'st ; 

For in the inn was left no better room. 

A star, not seen before, in heaven appearing. 

Guided the wise men thither from the East, 250 

To honour thee with incense, myrrh, and gold ; 

By whose bright course led on they found the place, 

Affirming it thy star, new-graven in heaven. 

By which they knew thee King of Israel born. 

Just Simeon and prophetic Anna, warned 

By vision, found thee in the Temple, and spake, 

Before the altar and the vested priest. 

Like things of thee to all that present stood.' 

This having heard, straight I again revolved 

The Law and Prophets, searching what was writ 260 

Concerning the Messiah, to our scribes 

Known partly, and soon found of whom they spake 



Book i.] PARADISE REGAINED. 297 

I am — this chiefly, that my way must lie 

Through many a hard assay, even to the death, 

Ere I the promised kingdom can attain, 

Or work redemption for mankind, whose sins' 

Full weight must be transferred upon my head. 

Yet, neither thus disheartened or dismayed, 

The time prefixed I waited ; when behold 

The Baptist (of whose birth I oft had heard, 270 

Not knew by sight) now come, who was to come 

Before Messiah, and his way prepare! 

I, as all others, to his baptism came. 

Which I believed was from above ; but he 

Straight knew me, and with loudest voice proclaimed 

Me him (for it was shown him so from Heaven) — 

Me him whose harbinger he was ; and first 

Refused on me his baptism to confer, 

As much his greater, and was hardly won. 

But, as I rose out of the laving stream, 280 

Heaven opened her eternal doors, from whence 

The Spirit descended on me like a dove ; 

And last, the sum of all, my Father's voice, 

Audibly heard from Heaven, pronounced me his, 

Me his beloved Son, in whom alone 

He was well pleased : by which I knew the time 

Now full, that I no more should live obscure, 

But openly begin, as best becomes 

The authority which I derived from Heaven. 

And now by some strong motion I am led 290 

Into tliis wilderness; to what intent 

I learn not yet. Perhaps I need not know; 

For what concerns my knowledge God reveals." 

So spake our Morning Star, then in his rise, 
And, looking round, on every side beheld 
A pathless desert, dusk with horrid shades. 
The way he came, not having marked return, 
Was difficult, by human steps untrod ; 
And he still on was led, but with such thoughts 
Accompanied of things past and to come 300 

Lodged in his breast as well might recommend 
Such solitude before choicest society. 

Full forty days he passed — whether on hill 
Sometimes, anon in shady vale, each night 
Under the covert of some ancient oak 
Or cedar to defend him from the dew. 
Or harboured in one cave, is not revealed ; 
Nor tasted human food, nor hunger felt, 



298 PARADISE REGAINED. [Book i. 

Till those days ended; hungered then at last 

Among wild beasts. They at his sight grew mild, 310 

Nor sleeping him nor waking harmed ; his walk 

The fiery serpent fled and noxious worm ; 

The lion and fierce tiger glared aloof. 

But now an aged man in rural weeds, 

Following, as seemed, the quest of some stray ewe, 

Or withered sticks to gather, which might serve 

Against a winter's day, when wdnds blow keen, 

To warm him wet returned from field at eve. 

He saw approach ; who first with curious eye 

Perused him, then with words thus uttered spake : — 320 

" Sir, wdiat ill chance hath brought thee to this place, 
So far from path or road of men, who pass 
In troop or caravan? for single none 
Durst ever, who returned, and dropt not here 
His carcass, pined with hunger and with droughth. 
I ask the rather, and the more admire, 
For that to me thou seem'st the man whom late 
Our new baptizing Prophet at the ford 
Of Jordan honoured so, and called thee Son 

Of God. I saw and heard, for we sometimes 330 

Who dwell this wild, constrained by want, come forth 
To town or village nigh (nighest is far). 
Where aught we hear, and curious are to hear, 
What happens new ; fame also finds us out." 

To whom the Son of God : — " Who brought me hither 
Will bring me hence ; no other guide I seek." 

" By miracle he may," replied the swain ; 
" What other way I see not ; for we here 
Live on tough roots and stubs, to thirst inured 
More than the camel, and to drink go far — 340 

Men to much misery and hardship born. 
But, if thou be the Son of God, command 
That out of these hard stones be made thee bread ; 
So shalt thou save thyself, and us relieve 
With food, whereof we wretched seldom taste." 

He ended, and the Son of God replied : — 
" Think'st thou such force in bread? Is it not written 
(For I discern thee other than thou seem'st), 
Man lives not by bread only, but each word 

Proceeding from the mouth of God, who fed 350 

Our fathers here with manna? In the Mount 
Moses was forty days, nor eat nor drank ; 
And forty days Eliah without food 
Wandered this barren waste ; the same I now. 



Book i.] PARADISE REGAINED. 299 

Why dost thou, then, suggest to me distrust, 
Knowing who I am, as I know who thoii art?" 

Whom thus answered the Arch-Fiend, now undisguised : — 
" 'Tis true, I am that Spirit unfortunate 
Who, leagued with milHons more in rash revolt, 
Kept not my happy station, but was driven 360 

With them from bliss to the bottomless Deep — 
Yet to that hideous place not so confined 
By rigour unconniving bat that oft, 
Leaving my dolorous prison, I enjoy 
Large liberty to round this globe of Earth, 
Or range in the Air ; nor from the Heaven of Heavens 
Hath he excluded my resort sometimes. 
I came, among the Sons of God, when he 
Gave up into my hands Uzzean Job, 

To prove him, and illustrate his high w^orth ; 370 

And, when to all his Angels he proposed 
To draw the proud king Ahab into fraud, 
That he might fall in Ramoth, they demurring, 
I undertook that office, and the tongues 
Of all his flattering prophets glibbed with lies 
To his destmction, as I had in charge : 
For what he bids I do. Though I have lost 
Much lustre of my native brightness, lost 
To be beloved of God, I have not lost 

To love, at least contemplate and admire, 380 

What I see excellent in good, or fair, 
Or virtuous ; I should so have lost all sense. 
What can be then less in me than desire 
To see thee and approach thee, w^hom I know 
Declared the Son of God, to hear attent 
Thy wisdom, and behold thy godlike deeds? 
Men generally think me much a foe 
To all mankind. Why should I? they to me 
Never did wrong or violence. By them 

I lost not what I lost ; rather by them 390 

I gained what I have gained, and with them dwell 
Copartner in these regions of the World, 
If not disposer — lend them oft my aid. 
Oft my advice by presages and signs. 
And answers, oracles, portents, and dreams, 
Whereby they may direct their future life. 
Envy, they say, excites me, thus to gain 
Companions of my misery and woe ! 
At first it may be ; but, long since with woe 
Nearer acquainted, now I feel by proof 4°° 



300 PARADISE REGAINED. [Book i. 

That fellowship in pain divides not smart, 

Nor lightens aught each man's peculiar laad ; 

Small consolation, then, were Man adjoined. 

This wounds me most (what can it less?) that Man, 

Man fallen, shall be restored, I never more." 

To whom our Saviour sternly thus replied : — 
" Deservedly thou griev'st, composed of lies 
From the beginning, and in lies wilt end, 
Who boast'st release from Hell, and leave to come 
Into the Heaven of Heavens. Thou com'st, indeed, 410 

As a poor miserable captive thrall 
Comes to the place where he before had sat 
Among the prime in splendour, now deposed, 
Ejected, emptied, gazed, unpitied, shunned, 
A spectacle of ruin, or of scorn. 
To all the host of Heaven. The happy place 
Imparts to thee no happiness, no joy — 
Rather inflames thy torment, representing 
Lost bliss, to thee no more communicable ; 

So never more in Hell than when in Heaven. 420 

But thou art serviceable to Heaven's King ! 
Wilt thou impute to obedience what thy fear 
Extorts, or pleasure te do ill excites? 
What but thy malice moved thee to misdeem 
Of righteous Job, then cruelly to afflict him 
With all inflictions? but his patience won. 
The other service was thy chosen task. 
To be a liar in four hundred mouths ; 
For lying is thy sustenance, thy food. 

Yet thou pretend'st to truth! all oracles 430 

By thee are given, and what confessed more true 
Among the nations? That hath been thy craft, ' 
By mixing somewhat true to vent more lies. 
But what have been thy answers? what but dark. 
Ambiguous, and with double sense deluding. 
Which they who asked have seldom understood, 
And, not well understood, as good not known? 
Who ever, by consulting at thy shrine. 
Returned the wiser, or the more instmct 

To fly or follow what concerned him most, 440 

And run not sooner to his fatal snare? 
For God hath justly given the nations up 
To thy delusions ; justly, since they fell 
Idolatrous. But, when his purpose is 
Among them to declare his providence, 
To thee not known, whence hast thou then thy truth. 



Book i.] PARADISE REGAINED. 301 



But from him, or his Angels president 

In every province, who, themselves disdaining 

To approach thy temples, give thee in command 

What, to the smallest tittle, thou shalt say 450 

To thy adorers? Thou, with trembling fear, 

Or like a fawning parasite, obey'st ; 

Then to thyself ascrib'st the truth foretold. 

But this thy glory shall be soon retrenched ; 

No more shalt thou by oracling abuse 

The Gentiles ; henceforth oracles are ceased, 

And thou no more with pomp and sacrifice 

Shalt be inquired at Delphos or elsewhere — 

At least in vain, for they shall find thee mute. 

God hath now sent his living Oracle 460 

Into the world to teach his final will, 

And sends his Spirit of Truth henceforth to dwell 

In pious hearts, an inward oracle 

To all truth requisite for men to know.'' 

So spake our Saviour ; but the subtle Fiend, 
Though inly stung with anger and disdain. 
Dissembled, and tliis answer smooth returned : — 

" Sharply thou hast insisted on rebuke. 
And urged me hard with doings which not will, 
But misery, hath wrested from me. Where 470 

Easily canst thou find one miserable, 
And not enforced oft-times to part from truth. 
If it may stand him more in stead to lie, 
Say and unsay, feign, flatter, or abjure? 
But thou art placed above me ; thou art Lord ; 
From thee I can, and must, submiss, endure 
Check or reproof, and glad to scape so quit. 
Hard are the ways of truth, and rough to walk, 
Smooth on the tongue discoursed, pleasing to the ear. 
And tunable as sylvan pipe or song; 480 

What wonder, then, if I delight to hear 
Her dictates from thy mouth? most men admire 
Virtue who follow not her lore. Permit me 
To hear thee when I come (since no man comes), 
And talk at least, though I despair to attain. 
Thy Father, who is holy, wise, and pure, 
Suffers the hypocrite or atheous priest 
To tread his sacred courts, and minister 
About his altar, handling holy things. 

Praying or vowing, and vouchsafed his voice 49° 

To Balaam reprobate, a prophet yet 
Inspired: disdain not such access to me." 



302 PARADISE REGAINED. [Book i. 



To whom our Saviour, with unaltered brow : — 
" Thy coming liither, though I know thy scope, 
I bid not, or forbid. Do as thou find'st 
Permission from above ; thou canst not more." 

He added not ; and Satan, bowing low 
His gray dissimulation, disappeared, 
Into thin air diffused : for now began 

Night with her sullen wing to double-shade 500 

The desert ; fowls in their clay nests were couched ; 
And now wild beasts came forth the woods to roam. 



THE END OF THE FIRST BOOK. 



PARADISE REGAINED. 



THE SECOND BOOK. 



MEANWHILE the new-baptized who yet remained 
At Jordan with the Baptist, and had seen 
Him whom they heard so late expressly called 
Jesus Messiah, Son of God, declared 
And on that high authority had believed, 
And with him talked, and with him lodged — I mean 
Andrew and Simon, famous after known, 
With others, though in Holy Writ not named — 
Now 4;nissing him, their joy so lately found, 

So lately found and so abruptly gone, lo 

Began to doubt, and doubted many days, 
And, as the days increased, increased their doubt. 
Sometimes they thought he might be only shown, 
And for a time caught up to God, as once 
Moses was in the Mount and missing long. 
And the great Thisbite, who on fiery wheels 
Rode up to Heaven, yet once again to come. 
Therefore, as those young prophets then with care 
Sought lost Eliah, so in each place these 

Nigh to Bethabara — in Jericho 20 

The city of palms, yEnon, and Salem old, 
Machcerus, and each town or city walled 
On this side the broad lake Genezaret, 
Or in Peraea — but returned in vain. 
Then on the bank of Jordan, by a creek. 
Where winds with reeds and osiers whispering play, 
Plain fishermen (no greater men them call). 
Close in a cottage low together got, 
Their unexpected loss and plaints outbreathed : — 

*'Alas, from what high hope to what relapse 30 

303 



304 PARADISE REGAINED. [Book ii. 

unlooked for are we fallen! Our eyes beheld 

jMessiah certainly now come, so long 

Expected of our fathers ; we have heard 

His words, his wisdom full of grace and truth. 

' Now, now, for sure, deliverance is at hand ; 

The kingdom shall to Israel be restored : ' 

Thus we rejoiced, but soon our joy is turned 

Into perplexity and new amaze. 

For whither is he gone? what accident 

Hath rapt him from us? will he now retire 40 

After appearance, and again prolong 

Our expectation? God of Israel, 

Send thy Messiah forth ; the time is come. 

Behold the kings of the earth, how they oppress 

Thy Chosen, to what highth their power unjust 

They have exalted, and behind them cast 

All fear of Thee ; arise, and vindicate 

Thy glory ; free thy people from their yoke ! 

But let us wait; thus far He hath performed — 

Sent his Anointed, and to us revealed him, 50 

By his great Prophet pointed at and shown 

In public, and with him we have conversed. 

Let us be glad of this, and all our fears 

Lay on his providence ; He will not fail, 

Nor will withdraw him now, nor will recall — 

Mock us with his blest sight, then snatch him hence : 

Soon we shall see our hope, our joy, return." 

Thus they out of their plaints new hope resume 
To find whom at the first they found unsought. 
But to his mother Mary, when she saw 60 

Others returned from baptism, not her Son, 
Nor left at Jordan tidings of him none. 
Within her breast though calm, her breast though pure, 
Motherly cares and fears got head, and raised 
Some troubled thoughts, which she in sighs thus clad : — 

"' Oh, what avails me now that honour high, 
To have conceived of God, or that salute, 
'Hail, highly favoured, among women blest!' 
While I to sorrows am no .less advanced, 

And fears as eminent above the lot 70 

Of other women, by the birth I bore : 
In such a season born, when scarce a shed 
Could be obtained to shelter him or me 
From the bleak air? A stable was our warmth, 
A manger his ; yet soon enforced to fly 
Thence into Egypt, till the murderous king 
Were dead, who sought his life, and, missing, filled 



Book ii.] PARADISE REGAINED. 305 

With infant blood the streets of Bethlehem. 

From Egypt home returned, in Nazareth 

Hath been our dwelling many years ; his life 80 

Private, unactive, calm, contemplative, 

Little suspicious to any king. But now. 

Full grown to man, acknowledged, as I hear, 

By John the Baptist, and in public shown. 

Son owned from Heaven by his Father's voice, 

I looked for some great change. To honour? no; 

But trouble, as old Simeon plain foretold, 

That to the fall and rising he should be 

Of many in Israel, and to a sign 

Spoken against — that through my very soul 90 

A sword shall pierce. This is my favoured lot, 

My exaltation to afflictions high ! 

Afflicted I may be, it seems, and blest ! 

I will not argue that, nor will repine. 

But where delays he now? Some great intent 

Conceals him. When twelve years he scarce had seen, 

I lost him, but so found as well I saw 

He could not lose himself, but went about 

His Father's business. What he meant I mused — 

Since understand ; much more his absence now lOO 

Thus long to some great purpose he obscures. 

But I to wait with patience am inured ; 

My heart hath been a storehouse long of things 

And sayings laid up, portending strange events." 

Thus Mary, pondering oft, and oft to mind 
ReCfiUing what remarkably had passed 
Since first her salutation heard, with thoughts 
Meekly composed awaited the fulfilling : 
The while her Son, tracing the desert wild, 

Sole, but with holiest meditations fed, 1 10 

Into himself descended, and at once 
All his great work to come before him set — 
How to begin, how to accomplish best 
His end of being on Earth, and mission high. 
For Satan, with sly preface to return, 
Had left him vacant, and with speed was gone 
Up to the middle region of thick air. 
Where all his Potentates in council sat. 
There, without sign of boast, or sign of joy, 
Solicitous and blank, he thus began: — 120 

''Princes, Heaven's ancient Sons, Ethereal Thrones — 
Demonian Spirits now, from the element 
Each of his reign allotted, rightlier called 
Powers of Fire, Air, Water, and Earth beneath 



3o6 PARADISE REGAINED, [Book ii. 

(So may we hold our place and these mild seats 

Without new trouble !) — such an enemy 

Is risen to invade us, who no less 

Threatens than our expulsion down to Hell. 

I, as I undertook, and with the vote 

Consenting in full frequence was empowered, 130 

Have found him, viewed him, tasted him ; but find 

Far other labour to be undergone 

Than when I dealt with Adam, first of men, 

Though Adam by his wife's allurement fell, 

However to this Man inferior far — 

If he be Man by mother's side, at least 

With more than human gifts from Heaven adorned. 

Perfections absolute, graces divine. 

And amplitude of mind to greatest deeds. 

Therefore I am returned, lest confidence 140 

Of my success with Eve in Paradise 

Deceive ye to persuasion over-sure 

Of like succeeding here. I summon all 

Rather to be in readiness with hand 

Or counsel to assist, lest I, who erst 

Thought none my equal, now be overmatched.'" 

So spake the old Serpent, doubting, and from all 
With clamour was assured their utmost aid 
At his command ; when from amidst them rose 
Belial, the dissolutest Spirit that fell, 150 

The sensualest, and, after Asmodai, 
The fleshliest Incubus, and thus advised : — 

" Set women in his eye and in his walk. 
Among daughters of men the fairest found. 
Many are in each region passing fair 
As the noon sky, more like to goddesses 
Than mortal creatures, graceful and discreet, 
Expert in amorous arts, enchanting tongues 
Persuasive, virgin majesty with mild 

And sweet allayed, yet terrible to approach, 160 

Skilled to retire, and in retiring draw 
Hearts after them tangled in amorous nets. 
Such object hath the power to soften and tame 
Severest temper, smooth the rugged'st brow, 
Enerve, and with voluptuous hope dissolve. 
Draw out with credulous desire, and lead 
At will the manliest, resolutest breast. 
As the magnetic hardest iron draws. 
Women, when nothing else, beguiled the heart 
Of wisest Solomon, and made him build, 170 

And made him bow, to the gods of his wives." 



Book ii.] PARADISE REGAINED. 307 

To whom quick answer Satan thus returned : — 
" Belial, in much uneven scale thou weigh'st 
All others by thyself. Because of old 
Thou thyself doat'st on womankind, admiring 
Their shape, their colour, and attractive grace, 
^Noile are, thou think'st, but taken with such toys. 
Before the Flood, thou, with thy lusty crew, 
False titled Sons of God, roaming the Earth, 

Cast wanton eyes on the daughters of men, 180 

And coupled with them, and begot a race. * 

Have we not seen, or by relation heard. 
In courts and regal chambers how thou lurk'st, 
In wood or grove, by mossy fountain-side, 
In valley or green meadow, to waylay 
Some beauty rare, Calisto, Clymene, 
Daphne, or Semele, Antiopa, 
Or Amymone, Syrinx, many more 
Too long — then lay'st thy scapes on names adored, 
Apollo, Neptune, Jupiter, or Pan, 190 

Satyr, or Faun, or Silvan? But these haunts 
Delight not all. Among the sons of men 
How many have with a smile made small account 
Of beauty and her lures, easily scorned 
All her assaults, on worthier things intent ! 
Remember that Pellean conqueror, 
A youth, how all the beauties of the East 
He slightly viewed, and slightly overpassed; 
How he surnamed of Africa dismissed, 

In his prime youth, the fair Iberian maid. 200 

For Solomon, he lived at ease, and, full 
Of honour, wealth, high fare, aimed not beyond 
Higher design than to enjoy his state ; 
Thence to the bait of women lay exposed. 
But he whom we attempt is wiser far 
Than Solomon, of more exalted mind. 
Made and set wholly on the accomplishment 
Of greatest things. What woman will you find, 
Though of this age the wonder and the fame, 
On whom his leisure will vouchsafed an eye 210 

Of fond desire? Or should she, confident. 
As sitting queen adored on Beauty's throne, 
Descend with all her winning charms begirt 
To enamour, as the zone of Venus once 
Wrought that effect on Jove (so fables tell), 
How would one look from his majestic brow. 
Seated as on the top of Virtue's hill, 
Discountenance her despised, and put to rout 



3o8 PARADISE REG AIMED. [Book ii. 



All her array, her female pride deject, 

Or turn to reverent awe ! For Beauty stands 220 

In the admiration only of weak minds 

Led captive ; cease to admire, and all her plumes 

Fall flat, and shrink into a trivial toy, 

At every sudden slighting quite abashed. ^ 

Therefore with manlier objects we must try 

His constancy — with such as have more show 

Of worth, of honour, glory, and popular praise 

(Rocks wherein greatest men have oftest wrecked) ; 

Or that which only seems to satisfy 

Lawful desires of nature, not beyond. 230 

And now I know he hungers, where no food 

Ls to be found, in the wild Wilderness : 

The rest commit to me ; I shall let pass 

No advantage, and his strength as oft assay.'" 

He ceased, and heard their grant in loud acclaim ; 
Then forthwith to him takes a chosen band 
Of Spirits likest to himself in guile. 
To be at hand and at his beck appear. 
If cause were to unfold some active scene 

Of various persons, each to know his part ; 240 

Then to the desert takes with these his flight, 
Where still, from shade to shade, the Son of God, 
After forty days' fasting, had remained. 
Now hungering first, and to himself thus said : — 

"Where will this end? Four times ten days I have passed 
Wandering this woody maze, and human food 
Nor tasted, nor had appetite. That fast 
To virtue I impute not, or count part 
Of what I suffer here. If nature need not, 

Or God support nature without repast, 250 

Though needing, what praise is it to endure? 
But now I feel I hunger ; which declares 
Nature hath need of what she asks. Yet God 
Can satisfy that need some other w^ay. 
Though hunger still remain. So it remain 
Without this body's wasting, I content me. 
And from the sting of famine fear no harm ; 
Nor mind it, fed with better thoughts, that ifeed 
Me hungering more to do my Father's will.'" 

It was the hour of night, when thus the Son 260 

Communed in silent walk, then laid him down 
Under the hospitable covert nigh 
Of trees thick interwoven. There he slept, 
And dreamed, as appetite is wont to dream, 
Of meats and drinks, nature's refreshment sweet. 



Him thought he by the brook of Cherith stood, 

And saw the ravens with their horny beaks 

Food to EHjah bringing even and morn — 

Though ravenous, taught to abstain from what they brought; 

He saw the Prophet also, how he fled 270 

Into the desert, and how there he slept 

Under a juniper — then how, awaked, 

He found his supper on the coals prepared, 

And by the Angel was bid rise and eat, 

And eat the second time after repose. 

The strength whereof sufficed him forty days : 

Sometimes that with Elijah he partook, 

Or as a guest with Daniel at his pulse. 

Thus wore out night ; and now the herald lark 

Left his ground-nest, high towering to descry 280 

The Morn's approach, and greet her with his song. 

As lightly from his grassy couch up rose 

Our Saviour, and found all was but a dream ; 

Fasting he went to sleep, and fasting waked. 

Up to a hill anon his steps he reared, 

From whose high top to ken the prospect round, 

If cottage were in view, sheep-cote, or herd ; 

But cottage, herd, or sheep-cote, none he saw — 

Only in a bottom saw a pleasant grove. 

With chant of tuneful birds resounding loud. 290 

Thither he bent his way, determined there 

To rest at noon, and entered soon the shade 

High-roofed, and walks beneath, and alleys brown. 

That opened in the midst a woody scene ; 

Nature's own work it seemed (Nature taught Art), 

And, to a superstitious eye, the haunt 

Of wood-gods and wood-nymphs. He viewed it round; 

When suddenly a man before him stood, 

Not rustic as before, but seemlier clad, 

As one in city or court or palace bred, 300 

And with fair speech these words to him addressed : — 

" With granted leave officious I return. 
But much more wonder that the Son of God 
In this wild solitude so long should bide, 
Of all things destitute, and, well I know. 
Not without hunger. Others of some note, 
As story tells, have trod this wilderness : 
The fugitive bond-woman, with her son. 
Outcast Nebaioth, yet found here relief 

By a providing Angel ; all the race 310 

Of Israel here had famished, had not God 
Rained from heaven manna; and that Prophet bold, 



3IO PARADISE REGAINED. [Book ii. 

Native of Thebez, wandering here, was fed 
Twice by a voice inviting him to eat. 
Of thee these forty days none hath regard, 
Forty and more deserted here indeed." 

To whom thus Jesus: — "What conclud'st thou hence? 
They all liad need; I, as thou seest, have none." 

"How hast thou hunger then?" Satan rephed. 
"Tell me, if food were now before thee set, 320 

Wouldst thou not eat ? " " Thereafter as I like 
The giver," answered Jesus. "Why should that 
Cause thy refusal?" said the subtle Fiend. 
"Hast thou not right to all created things? 
Owe not all creatures, by just right, to thee 
Duty and service, nor to stay till bid. 
But tender all their power? Nor mention I 
Meats by the law unclean, or oiTered first 
To idols — those young Daniel could refuse ; 

Nor proiTered by an enemy — though who 330 

Would scruple that, with want oppressed? Behold, 
Nature ashamed, or, better to express, 
Troubled, that thou shouldst hunger, hath purveyed 
From all the elements her choicest store. 
To treat thee as beseems, and as her Lord 
With honour. Only deign to sit and eat." 

He spake no dream ; for, as his words had end. 
Our Saviour, lifting up his eyes, beheld, 
In ample space under the broadest shade, 

A table richly spread in regal mode, 340 

With dishes piled and meats of noblest sort i 

And savour — beasts of chase, or fowl of game, ' 

In pastry built, or from the spit, or boiled, 
Grisamber-steamed ; all fish, from sea or shore, 
Freshet or purling brook, of shell or fin. 
And exquisitest name, for which was drained 
Pontus, and Lucrine bay, and Afric coast. 
Alas ! how simple, to these cates compared, 
Was that crude apple that diverted Eve ! 

And at a stately sideboard, by the wine, 350 

That fragrant smell diffused, in order stood 
Tall stripling youths rich-clad, of fairer hue 
Than Ganymed or Hylas ; distant more. 
Under the trees now tripped, now solemn stood, 
Nymphs of Diana's train, and Naiades 
With fmits and flowers from Amalthea's horn, 
And ladies of the Hesperides, that seemed 
Fairer than feigned of old, or fabled since 
Of faery damsels met in forest wide 



Book II.] PARADISE REGAINED. 311 



By knights of Logres, or of Lyones, 360 

Lancelot, or Pelleas, or Pellenore. 

And all the while harmonious airs were heard 

Of chiming strings or charming pipes ; and v/inds 

Of gentlest gale Arabian odours fanned 

From their soft wings, and Flora's earliest smells. 

Such was the splendour; and the Tempter now 

His invitation earnestly renewed : — 

"What doubts the Son of God to sit and eat? 
These are not fruits forbidden; no interdict 

Defends the touching of these viands pure ; 370 

Their taste no knowledge works, at least of evil, 
But life preserves, destroys life's enemy. 
Hunger, with sweet restorative delight. 
All these are Spirits of air, and woods, and springs, 
Thy gentle ministers, who come to pay 
Thee homage, and acknowledge thee their Lord. 
What doubt'st thou. Son of God? Sit down and eat." 

To whom thus Jesus temperately replied : — 
"Said'st thou not that to all things I had right? 
And who withholds my power that right to use? 380 

Shall I receive by gift what of my own, 
When and where likes me best, I can command? 
I can at will, doubt not, as soon as thou, 
Command a table in this wilderness. 
And call swift flights of Angels ministrant, 
Arrayed in glory, on my cup to attend : 
Why shouldst thou, then, obtrude this diligence 
In vain, where no acceptance it can find? 
And with my hunger what hast thou to do? 

Thy pompous delicacies I contemn, 390 

And count thy specious gifts no gifts, but guiles." 

To whom thus answered Satan, malecontent : — 
" That I have also power to give thou seest ; 
If of that power I bring thee voluntary 
What I might have bestowed on whom I pleased, 
And rather opportunely in this place 
Chose to impart to thy apparent need, 
Why shouldst thou not accept it? But I see 
What I can do or offer is suspect. 

Of these things others quickly will dispose, 400 

Whose pains have earned the far-fet spoil." With that 
Both table and provision vanished quite, 
With sound of harpies' wings and talons heard ; 
Only the importune Tempter still remained, 
And with these words his temptation pursued : — 

"By hunger, that each other creature tames, 



312 PARADISE REGAINED. [Book ii. 



Thou art not to be harmed, therefore not moved ; 
Thy temperance, invincible besides, 
For no alhirement yields to appetite ; 

And all thy heart is set on high designs, 410 

High actions. But wherewith to be achieved? 
Great acts require great means of enterprise ; 
Thou art unknown, unfriended, low of birth, 
A carpenter thy father known, thyself 
Bred up in poverty and straits at home, 
Lost in a desert here and hunger-bit. 
Which way, or from what hope, dost thou aspire 
To greatness? whence authority deriv'st? 
What followers, what retinue canst thou gain, 

Or at thy heels the dizzy multitude, 420 

Longer than thou canst feed them on thy cost? 
Money brings honour, friends, conquest, and realms. 
What raised Antipater the Edomite, 
And his son Herod placed on Judah's throne. 
Thy throne, but gold, that got him puissant friends? 
Therefore, if at great things thou wouldst arrive, 
Get riches first, get wealth, and treasure heap — 
Not difficult, if thou hearken to me. 
Riches are mine, fortune is in my hand ; 

They whom I favour thrive in wealth amain, 430 

While virtue, valour, wisdom, sit in want.'" 
To whom thus Jesus patiently replied : — 
" Yet wealth without these three is impotent 
To gain dominion, or to keep it gained — 
Witness those ancient empires of the earth, 
In highth of all their flowing wealth dissolved; 
But men endued with these have oft attained, 
In lowest poverty, to highest deeds — 
Gideon, and Jephtha, and the shepherd lad 

Whose offspring on the throne of Judah sat 440 

So many ages, and shall yet regain 
That seat, and reign in Israel without end. 
Among the Heathen (for throughout the world 
To me is not unknown what hath been done 
Worthy of memorial) canst thou not remember 
Quintius, Fabricius, Curius, Regulus? 
For I esteem those names of men so poor. 
Who could do mighty things, and could contemn 
Riches, though offered from the hand of kings. 
And what in me seems wanting but that I 450 

May also in this poverty as soon 
Accomplish what they did, perhaps and more? 
Extol not riches, then, the toil of fools, 



Book ii.] PARADISE REGAINED. 313 



The wise man's cumbrance, if not snare ; more apt 

To slacken virtue and abate lier edge 

Than prompt her to do aught may merit praise. 

What if with Hi<e aversion I reject 

Riches and reahns ! Yet not for that a crown, 

Golden in show, is but a wreath of thorns, 

Brings dangers, troubles, cares, and sleepless nights, 460 

To him who wears the regal diadem. 

When on his shoulders each man's burden lies ; 

For therein stands the office of a king. 

His honour, virtue, merit, and chief praise. 

That for the public all this weight he bears. 

Yet he who reigns within himself, and rules 

Passions, desires, and fears, is more a king — 

Which every wise and virtuous man attains ; 

And who attains not ill aspires to rule 

Cities of men, or headstrong multitudes, 470 

Subject himself to anarchy within. 

Or lawless passions in him, which he serves. 

But to guide nations in the way of truth 

By saving doctrine, and from error lead 

To know, and, knowing, worship God aright, 

Is yet more kingly. This attracts the soul, 

Governs the inner man, the nobler part ; 

That other o'er the body only reigns, 

And oft by force — which to a generous mind 

So reigning can be no sincere delight. 480 

Besides, to give a kingdom hath been thought 

Greater and nobler done, and to lay down 

Far more magnanimous, than to assume. 

Riches are needless, then, both for themselves, 

And for thy reason why they should be sought — 

To gain a sceptre, oftest better missed." 



THE END OF THE SECOND BOOK. 



PARADISE REGAINED. 



THE THIRD BOOK. 



SO spake the Son of God ; and Satan stood 
A while as mute, confounded what to say, 
What to reply, confuted and convinced 
Of his weak arguing and fallacious drift ; 
At length, collecting all his serpent wiles, 
With soothing words renewed, him thus accosts : — 

" I see thou know'st what is of use to know, 
What best to say canst say, to do canst do ; 
Thy actions to thy words accord ; thy words 
To thy large heart give utterance due ; thy heart lo 

Contains of good, wise, just, the perfect shape. 
Should kings and nations from thy mouth consult, 
Thy counsel would be as the oracle 
'Urim and Thummim, those oraculous gems 
On Aaron's breast, or tongue of Seers old 
Infallible ; or, wert thou sought to deeds 
That might require the array of war, thy skill 
Of conduct would be such that all the world 
Could not sustain thy prowess, or subsist 

In battle, though against thy few in arms. 20 

These godlike virtues wherefore dost thou hide? 
AiTecting private life, or more obscure 
In savage wilderness, wherefore deprive 
All Earth her wonder at thy acts, thyself 
The fame and glory — glory, the reward 
That sole excites to high attempts the flame 
Of most erected spirits, most tempered pure 
Ethereal, who all pleasures else despise. 
All treasures and all gain esteem as dross. 
And dignities and powers, all but the highest? 30 

314 



Book hi.] PARADISE REGAINED. 315 

Thy years are ripe, and over-ripe. The son 

Of Macedonian Phihp had ere these 

Won Asia, and the throne of Cyrus held 

At his dispose ; young Scipio had brought down 

The Carthaginian pride ; young Pompey quelled 

The Pontic king, and in triumph had rode. 

Yet years, and to ripe years judgment mature, 

Quench not the thirst of glory, but augment. 

Great Julius, whom now all the world admires. 

The more he grew in years, the more inflamed 40 

With glory, wept that he had lived so long 

Inglorious. But thou yet art not too late." 

To whom our Saviour calmly thus replied: — 
" Thou neither dost persuade me to seek wealth 
For empire's sake, nor empire to affect 
For glory's sake, by all thy argument. 
For what is glory but the blaze of fame, 
The people's praise, if always praise unmixed? 
And what the people but a herd confused, 

A miscellaneous rabble, who extol 50 

Things vulgar, and, well weighed, scarce worth the praise? 
They praise and they admire they know not what. 
And know not whom, but as one leads the other; 
And what delight to be by such extolled. 
To live upon their tongues, and be their talk? 
Of whom to be dispraised were no small praise — 
• His lot who dares be singularly good. 
The intelligent among them and the wise 
Are few, and glory scarce of few is raised. 

This is true glory and renown — when God, 60 

Looking on the Earth, with approbation marks 
The just man, and divulges him through Heaven 
To all his Angels, who with true applause 
Recount his praises. Thus he did to Job, 
When, to extend his fame through Heaven and Earth, 
As thou to thy reproach may'st well remember, 
He asked thee, ^ Hast thou seen my servant Job?' 
Famous he was in Heaven ; on Earth less known, 
Where glory is false glory, attributed 

To things not glorious, men not worthy of fame. 7° 

They err who count it glorious to subdue 
By conquest far and wide, to overrun 
Large countries, and in field great battles win, 
Great cities by assault. What do these worthies 
But rob and spoil, burn, slaughter, and enslave 
Peaceable nations, neighbouring or remote. 
Made captive, yet deserving freedom more 



3i6 PARADISE REGAINED. [Book hi. 

Than those their conquerors, who leave behind 

Nothing but ruin wheresoever they rove, 

And all the flourishing works of peace destroy ; 80 

Then swell with pride, and must be titled Gods, 

Great Benefactors of mankind, Deliverers, 

Worshipped with temple, priest, and sacrifice? 

One is the son of Jove, of Mars the other ; 

Till conqueror Death discover them scarce men, 

Rolling in brutish vices, and deformed. 

Violent or shameful death their due reward. 

But, if there be in glory aught of good, 

It may by means far diff"erent be attained, 

Without ambition, war, or violence — 90 

By deeds of peace, by wisdom eminent. 

By patience, temperance. I mention still 

Him whom thy wrongs, with saintly patience borne, 

Made famous in a land and times obscure ; 

Who names not now with honour patient Job? 

Poor Socrates, (who next more memorable?) 

By what he taught and suffered for so doing, 

For truth's sake suffering death unjust, lives now 

Equal in fame to proudest conquerors. 

Yet, if for fame and glory aught be done, loo 

Aught suffered — if young African for fame 

His wasted country freed from Punic rage — 

The deed becomes unpraised, the man at least, 

And loses, though but verbal, his reward. 

Shall I seek glory, then, as vain men seek. 

Oft not deserved? I seek not mine, but His 

Who sent me, and thereby witness Avhence 1 am." 

To whom the Tempter, murmuring, thus replied : — 
" Think not so shght of glory, therein least 

Resembling thy great Father. He seeks glory, no 

And for his glory all things made, all things 
Orders and governs ; nor content in Heaven, 
By all his Angels glorified, requires 
Glory from men, from all men, good or bad. 
Wise or unwise, no difference, no exemption. 
Above all sacrifice, or hallowed gift. 
Glory he requires, and glory he receives. 
Promiscuous from all nations, Jew, or Greek, 
Or Barbarous, nor exception hath declared ; 
From us, his foes pronounced, glory he exacts." 120 

To whom our Saviour fervently replied : — 
" And reason ; since his Word all things produced, 
Though chiefly not for glory as prime end, 
But to show forth his goodness, and impart 



Book III.] PARADISE REGAINED. 317 



His good communicable to every soul 

Freely ; of whom what could he less expect 

Than glory and benediction — that is, thanks — 

The slightest, easiest, readiest recompense 

From them who could return him nothing else, 

And, not returning that, would likeliest render 130 

Contempt instead, dishonour, obloquy? 

Hard recompense, unsuitable return 

For so much good, so much beneficence! 

But why should man seek glory, who of his own 

Hath nothing, and to whom nothing belongs 

But condemnation, ignominy, and shame — 

Who, for so many benefits received. 

Turned recreant to God, ingrate and false, 

And so of all true good himself despoiled ; 

Yet, sacrilegious, to himself would take 140 

That which to God alone of right belongs? 

Yet so much bounty is in God, such grace. 

That who advance his glory, not their own, 

Them he himself to glory will advance.'" 

So spake the Son of God ; and here again 
Satan had not to answer, but stood struck 
With guilt of his own sin — for he himself, 
Insatiable of glory, had lost all ; 
Yet of another plea bethought him soon : — 

"Of glory, as thou wilt," said he, ''so deem; 150 

Worth or not worth the seeking, let it pass. 
But to a Kingdom thou art born — ordained 
To sit upon thy father David's throne, 
By mother's side thy father, though thy right 
Be now in powerful hands, that will not part 
Easily from possession won with arms. 
Judaea now and all the Promised Land, 
Reduced a province under Roman yoke. 
Obeys Tiberius, nor is always ruled 

With temperate sway : oft have they violated 160 

The Temple, oft the Law, with foul affronts, 
Abominations rather, as did once 
Antiochus. And think \st thou to regain 
Thy right in sitting still, or thus retiring? 
So did not Machabeus. He indeed 
Retired unto the Desert, but with arms ; 
And o'er a mighty king so oft prevailed 
That by strong hand his family obtained. 
Though priests, the crown, and David's throne usurped, 
With Modin and her suburbs once content. 170 

If kingdom move thee not, let move thee zeal 



3i8 PARADISE REGAINED. [Book hi. 

And duty — zeal and duty are not slow, 

But on Occasion's forelock watchful wait : 

They themselves rather are occasion best — 

Zeal of thy Father's house, duty to free 

Thy country from her heathen servitude. 

So shalt thou best fulfil, best verify, 

The Prophets old, who sung thy endless reign — 

The happier reign the sooner it begins. 

Reign then; what canst thou better do the while?" 180 

To whom our Saviour answer thus returned : — 
" All things are best fulfilled in their due time ; 
And time there is for all things, Truth hath said. 
If of my reign Prophetic Writ hath told 
That it shall never end, so, when begin 
The Father in his purpose hath decreed — 
He in whose hand all times and seasons roll. 
What if he hath decreed that I shall first 
Be tried in humble state, and things adverse. 

By tribulations, injuries, insults, 190 

Contempts, and scorns, and snares, and violence, 
Suffering, abstaining, quietly expecting 
Without distrust or doubt, that He may know 
What I can suffer, how obey? Who best 
Can suffer best can do, best reign who first 
Well hath obeyed — just trial ere I merit 
My exaltation without change or end. 
But what concerns it thee when I begin 
My everlasting Kingdom? Why art thou 

Solicitous? What moves thy inquisition? 200 

Know'st thou not that my rising is thy fall. 
And my promotion will be thy destruction?" 

To whom the Tempter, inly racked, replied : — 
" Let that come when it comes. All hope is lost 
Of my reception into grace ; what worse ? 
For where no hope is left is left no fear. 
If there be worse, the expectation more 
Of worse torments me than the feeling can. 
I would be at the worst ; worst is my port, 

My harbour, and my ultimate repose, 210 

The end I would attain, my final good. 
My error was my error, and my crime 
My crime ; whatever, for itself condemned, 
And will alike be punished, whether thou 
Reign or reign not — though to that gentle brow 
Willingly I could fly, and hope thy reign. 
From that placid aspect and meek regard, 
Rather than aggravate my evil state. 



Book hi.] PARADISE REGAINED. 319 

Would stand between me and thy Father's ire 

(Whose ire I dread more than the fire of Hell) 220 

A shelter and a kind of shading cool 

Interposition, as a summer's cloud. 

If I, then, to the worst that can be haste, 

Why move thy feet so slow to what is best ? 

Happiest, both to thyself and all the world, 

That thou, who worthiest art, shouldst be their king ! 

Perhaps thou linger'st in deep thoughts detained 

Of the enterprise so hazardous and high ! 

No wonder ; for, though in thee be united 

What of perfection can in Man be found, 230 

Or human nature can receive, consider 

Thy life hath yet been private, most part spent 

At home, scarce viewed the Galilean towns, 

And once a year Jerusalem few days' 

Short sojourn ; and what thence couldst thou observe ? 

The world thou hast not seen, much less her glory, 

Empires, and monarchs, and their radiant courts — 

Best school of best experience, quickest in sight 

In all things that to greatest actions lead. 

The wisest, unexperienced, will be ever 240 

Timorous, and loth, with novice modesty 

(As he who, seeking asses, found a kingdom) 

Irresolute, unhardy, unadventurous. 

But I will bring thee where thou soon shalt quit 

Those rudiments, and see before thine eyes 

The monarchies of the Earth, their pomp and state — 

Sufficient introduction to inform 

Thee, of thyself so apt, in regal arts. 

And regal mysteries ; that thou may'st know 

How best their opposition to withstand." 250 

With that (such power was given him then), he took 
The Son of God up to a mountain high. 
It was a mountain at whose verdant feet 
A spacious plain outstretched in circuit wide 
Lay pleasant ; from his side two rivers flowed. 
The one winding, the other straight, and left between 
Fair champaign, with less rivers interveined. 
Then meeting joined their tribute to the sea. 
Fertile of corn the glebe, of oil, and wine ; 

With herds the pasture thronged, with flocks the hills ; 260 

Huge cities and high-towered, that well might seem 
The seats of mightiest monarchs ; and so large 
The prospect was that here and there was room 
For barren desert, founlainless and dry. 
To this high mountain-top the Tempter brought 



320 PARADISE REGAINED. [Book hi. 



Our Saviour, and new train of words began : — 
" Well have we speeded, and o'er hill and dale, 

Forest, and field, and flood, temples and towers, 

Cut shorter many a league. Here thou behold'st 

Assyria, and her empire's ancient bounds, 270 

Araxes and the Caspian lake ; thence on 

As far as Indus east, Euphrates west. 

And oft beyond ; to south the Persian bay, 

And, inaccessible, the Arabian drouth : 

Here, Nineveh, of length within her wall 

Several days' journey, built by Ninus old, 

Of that first golden monarchy the seat. 

And seat of Salmanassar, whose success 

Israel in long captivity still mourns ; 

There Babylon, the wonder of all tongues, 280 

As ancient, but rebuilt by him who twice 

Judah and all thy father David's house 

Led captive, and Jerusalem laid waste. 

Till Cyrus set them free ; Persepolis, 

His city, there thou seest, and Bactra there ; 

Ecbatana her structure vast there shows. 

And Hecatompylos her hundred gates ; 

There Susa by Choaspes, amber stream. 

The drink of none but kings ; of later fame, 

Built by Emathian or by Parthian hands, 290 

The great Seleucia, Nisibis, and there 

Artaxata, Teredon, Ctesiphon, 

Turning with easy eye, thou may'st behold. 

All these the Parthian (now some ages past 

By great Arsaces led, who founded first 

That empire) under his dominion holds. 

From the luxurious kings of Antioch won. 

And just in time thou com'st to have a view 

Of his great power ; for now the Parthian king 

In Ctesiphon hath gathered all his host 300 

Against the Scythian, whose incursions wild 

Have wasted Sogdiana ; to her aid 

He marches now in haste. See, though from far. 

His thousands, in what martial equipage 

They issue forth, steel bows and shafts their arms. 

Of equa'l dread in flight or in pursuit — 

All horsemen, in which fight they most excel ; 

See how in warlike muster they appear. 

In rhombs, and wedges, and half-moons, and wings." 

He looked, and saw what numbers numberless 310 

The city gates outpoured, light-armed troops 

In coats of mail and military pride. 



Book III.] PARADISE REGAINED. 321 

In mail their horses clad, yet fleet and strong, 

Prancing their riders bore, the flower and choice 

Of many provinces from bound to bound — 

From Arachosia, from Candaor east, 

And Margiana, to the Hyrcanian cliffs 

Of Caucasus, and dark Iberian dales ; 

From Atropatia, and the neighbouring plains 

Of Adiabene, Media, and the south 320 

Of Susiana, to Balsara's haven. 

He saw them in their forms of battle ranged. 

How quick they wheeled, and flying behind them shot 

Sharp sleet of arrowy showers against the face 

Of their pursuers, and overcame by flight ; 

The field all iron cast a gleaming brown. 

Nor wanted clouds of foot, nor, on each horn, 

Cuirassiers all in steel for standing fight, 

Chariots, or elephants indorsed with towers 

Of arches ; nor of labouring pioneers 330 

A multitude, with spades and axes armed. 

To lay hills plain, fell woods, or valleys fill, 

Or where plain was raise hill, or overlay 

With bridges rivers proud, as with a yoke : 

Mules after these, camels and dromedaries. 

And waggons fraught with utensils of war. 

Such forces met not, nor so wide a camp. 

When Agrican, with all his northern powers, 

Besieged Albracca, as romances tell. 

The city of Gallaphrone, from thence to win 340 

The fairest of her sex, Angelica, 

His daughter, sought by many prowest knights, 

Both Paynim and the peers of Charlemain. 

Such and so numerous was their chivalry ; 

At sight whereof the Fiend yet more presumed. 

And to our Saviour thus his words renewed : — 

" That thou may'st know I seek not to engage 
Thy virtue, and not every way secure 
On no slight grounds thy safety, hear and mark 
To what end I have brought thee hither, and show 350 

All this fair sight. Thy kingdom, though foretold 
By Prophet or by Angel, unless thou 
Endeavour, as thy father David did. 
Thou never shalt obtain : prediction still 
In all things, and all men, supposes means; 
Without means used, what it predicts revokes. 
But say thou wert possessed of David's throne • 
By free consent of all, none opposite. 
Samaritan or Jew; how couldst thou hope 



322 PARADISE REGAINED. [Book hi. 

Long to enjoy it quiet and secure 360 

Between two such enclosing enemies, 

Roman and Parthian ? Therefore one of these 

Thou must make sure thy own: the Parthian first, 

By my advice, as nearer, and of late 

Found able by invasion to annoy 

Thy country, and captive lead away her kings, 

Antigonus and old Hyrcanus, bound, 

Maugre the Roman. It shall be my task 

To render thee the Parthian at dispose. 

Choose which thou wilt, by conquest or by league. 370 

By him thou shalt regain, without him not, 

That which alone can truly reinstall thee 

In David''s royal seat, his true successor — 

Deliverance of thy brethren, those Ten Tribes 

Whose offspring in his territory yet serve 

In Habor, and among the Medes dispersed: 

Ten sons of Jacob, two of Joseph, lost 

Thus long from Israel, serving, as of old 

Their fathers in the land of Egypt served. 

This offer sets before thee to deliver. 380 

These if from servitude thou shalt restore 

To their inheritance, then, nor till then. 

Thou on the throne of David in full glory, 

From Egypt to Euphrates and beyond, 

Shalt reign, and Rome or Caesar not need fear." 

To whom our Saviour answered thus, unmoved : — 
"Much ostentation vain of fleshly arm 
And fragile arms, much instrument of war, 
Long in preparing, soon to nothing brought. 

Before mine eyes thou hast set, and in my ear 390 

Vented much policy, and projects deep 
Of enemies, of aids, battles, and leagues. 
Plausible to the world, to me worth naught. 
Means I must use, thou say'st; prediction else 
Will unpredict, and fail me of the throne ! 
My time, I told thee* (and that time for thee 
Were better farthest off), is not yet come. 
When that comes, think not thou to find me slack 
On my part aught endeavouring, or to need 

Thy politic maxims, or that cumbersome 400 

Luggage of war there shown me — argument 
Of human weakness rather than of strength. 
My brethren, as thou call'st them, those Ten Tribes, 
I must deliver, if I mean to reign 
David's true heir, and his full sceptre sway 
To just extent over 3-U Israel's sons I 



Book hi.] PARADISE REGAINED, 323 

But whence to thee this zeal? Where was it then 

For Israel, or for David, or his throne, 

When thou stood'st up his tempter to the pride 

Of numbering Israel — which cost the lives 410 

Of threescore and ten thousand Israelites 

By three days' pestilence? Such was thy zeal 

To Israel then, the same that now to me. 

As for those captive tribes, themselves were they 

Who wrought their own captivity, fell off 

From God to worship calves, the deities 

Of Egypt, Baal next and Ashtaroth, 

And all the idolatries of heathen round. 

Besides their other worse than heathenish crimes; 

Nor in the land of their captivity 420 

Humbled themselves, or penitent besought 

The God of their forefathers, but so died 

Impenitent, and left a race behind 

Like to themselves, distinguishable scarce 

From Gentiles, but by circumcision vain, 

And God with idols in their worship joined. 

Should I of these the liberty regard, 

Who, freed, as to their ancient patrimony, 

Unhumbled, unrepentant, unreformed. 

Headlong would follow, and to their gods perhaps 430 

Of Bethel and of Dan ? No ; let them serve 

Their enemies who serve idols with God. 

Yet He at length, time to himself best known, 

Remembering Abraham, by some wondrous call 

May bring them back, repentant and sincere. 

And at their passing cleave the Assyrian flood. 

While to their native land with joy they haste, 

As the Red Sea and Jordan once he cleft. 

When to the Promised Land their fathers passed. 

To his due time and providence I leave them." 440 

So spake Israel's true King, and to the Fiend 
Made answer meet, that made void all his wiles. 
So fares it when with truth falsehood contends. 



THE END OF THE THIRD BOOK. 



PARADISE REGAINED. 



THE FOURTH BOOK. 



PERPLEXED and troubled at his bad success 
The Tempter stood, nor had what to reply, 
Discovered in his fraud, thrown from his hope 
So oft, and the persuasive rhetoric 
That sleeked his tongue, and won so much on Eve, 
So little here, nay lost. But Eve was Eve ; 
This far his over-match, who, self-deceived 
And rash, beforehand had no better weighed 
The strength he was to cope with, or his own. 
But — as a man who had been matchless held lo 

In cunning, over-reached where least he thought, 
To salve his credit, and for very spite, 
Still will be tempting him who foils him still. 
And never cease, though to his shame the more; 
Or as a swarm of flies in vintage-time, 
About the wine-press where sweet must is poured. 
Beat off, returns as oft with humming sound; 
Or surging waves against a solid rock, 
Though all to shivers dashed, the assault renew, 
(Vain battery!) and in froth or bubbles end— 20 

So Satan, whom repulse upon repulse 
Met ever, and to shameful silence brought, 
Yet gives not o'er, though desperate of success, 
And his vain importunity pursues. 
He brought our Saviour to the western side 
Of that high mountain, whence he might behold 
Another plain, long, but in breadth not wide, 
Washed by the southern sea, and on the north 
To equal length backed with a ridge of hills 
That screened the fruits of the earth and seats of men 30 

324 



Book iv.] PARADISE REGAINED. 325 

From cold Septentrion blasts ; thence in the midst 

Divided by a river, off whose banks 

On each side an imperial city stood, 

With towers and temples proudly elevate 

On seven small hills, with palaces adorned, 

Porches and theatres, baths, aqueducts, 

Statues and trophies, and triumphal arcs, 

Gardens and groves, presented to his eyes 

Above the highth of mountains interposed — 

By what strange parallax, or optic skill 40 

Of vision, multiplied through air, or glass 

Of telescope, were curious to inquire. 

And now the Tempter thus his silence broke : — 

" The city which thou seest no other deem 
Than great and glorious Rome, %ueen of the Earth 
So far renowned, and with the spoils enriched 
Of nations. There the Capitol thou seest, 
Above the rest lifting his stately head 
On the Tarpeian rock, her citadel l' 

Impregnable ; and there Mount Palatine, 50 \ 

The imperial palace, compass huge, and high 
The structure, skill of noblest architects. 
With gilded battlements, conspicuous far, 
Turrets, and terraces, and glittering spires. 
Many a fair edifice besides, more like 
Houses of gods — so well I have disposed 
My aery microscope — thou may'st behold. 
Outside and inside both, pillars and roofs 
Carved work, the hand of famed artificers 

In cedar, marble, ivory, or gold. 60 

Thence to the gates cast round thine eye, and see 
What conflux issuing forth, or entering in : 
Praetors, proconsuls to their provinces 
Hasting, or on return, in robes of state ; 
Lictors and rods, the ensigns of their power ; 
Legions and cohorts, turms of horse and wings ; 
Or embassies from regions far remote, 
In various habits, on the Appian road, 
Or on the yEmilian — some from farthest south, 
Syene, and where the shadow both way falls, 70 

Meroe, Nilotic isle, and, more to west. 
The realm of Bocchus to the Blackmoor sea ; 
From the Asian kings (and Parthian among these), 
From India and the Golden Chersoness, 
And utmost Indian isle Taprobane, 
Dusk faces with white silken turbants wreathed ; 
From Gallia, Gades, and the British west ; 



326 PARADISE REGAINED. [Book iv. 



Germans, and Scythians, and Sarmatians north 

Beyond Danubius to the Tauric pool. 

All nations now to Rome obedience pay — 80 

To Rome's great Emperor, whose wide domain, 

In ample territory, wealth and power, 

Civility of manners, arts and arms. 

And long renown, thou justly may'st prefer 

Before the Parthian. These two thrones except, 

The rest are barbarous, and scarce worth the sight, 

Shared among petty kings too far removed ; 

These having shown thee, I have shown thee all 

The kingdoms of the world, and all their glory. 

This Emperor hath no son, and now is old, 90 

Old and lascivious, and from Rome retired 

To Capreae, an island small Mt strong 

On the Campanian shore, with purpose there 

His horrid lusts in private to enjoy ; 

Committing to a wicked favourite 

All public cares, and yet of him suspicious ; 

Hated of all, and hating. With what ease. 

Endued with regal virtues as thou art, 

Appearing, and beginning noble deeds, 

Might'st thou expel this monster from his throne, 100 

Now made a sty, and, in his place ascending, 

A victor-people free from servile yoke ! 

And with my help thou may'st ; to me the power 

Is given, and by that right I give it thee. 

Aim, therefore, at no less than all the world ; 

Aim at the highest ; without the highest attained. 

Will be for thee no sitting, or not long. 

On David''s throne, be prophesied what will." 

To whom the Son of God, unmoved, replied : — 
"Nor doth this grandeur and majestic show no 

Of luxury, though called magnificence, 
More than of arms before, allure ipine eye, 
Much less my mind ; though thou should'st add to tell 
Their sumptuous gluttonies, and gorgeous feasts 
On citron tables or Atlantic stone 
(For I have also heard, perhaps have read), 
Their wines of Setia, Cales, and Falerne, 
Chios and Crete, and how they quaff in gold. 
Crystal, and myrrhine cups, embossed with gems 
And studs of pearl — to me should'st tell, who thirst 120 

And hunger still. Then embassies thou show'st 
From nations far and nigh ! What honour that, 
But tedious waste of time, to sit and hear 
So many hollow compliments and lies, 



Book iv.] PARADISE REGAINED. 327 

Outlandish flatteries? Then proceed'st to talk 

Of the Emperor, how easily subdued, 

How gloriously. I shall, thou say^st, expel 

A brutish monster: what if I withal 

Expel a Devil who first made him such? 

Let his tormentor. Conscience, find him out; 130 

For him I was not sent, nor yet to free 

That people, victor once, now vile and base, 

Deservedly made vassal — who, once just. 

Frugal, and mild, and temperate, conquered well, 

But govern ill the nations under yoke. 

Peeling their provinces, exhausted all 

By lust and rapine ; first ambitious grown 

Of triumph, that insulting vanity ; 

Then cruel, by their sports to blood inured 

Of fighting beasts, and men to beasts exposed ; 140 

Luxurious by their wealth, and greedier still. 

And from the daily scene effeminate. 

What wise and valiant man would seek to free 

These, thus degenerate, by themselves enslaved, 

Or could of inward slaves make outward free? 

Know, therefore, when my seaso'n comes to sit 

On David's throne, it shall be like a tree 

Spreading and overshadowing all the earth. 

Or as a stone that shall to pieces dash 

All monarchies besides throughout the world; 150 

And of my kingdom there shall be no end. 

Means there shall be to this ; but what the means 

Is not for thee to know, nor me to tell." 

To whom the Tempter, impudent, replied : — 
" I see all offers made by me how slight 
Thou valuest, because offered, and reject'st. 
Nothing will please the difficult and nice, 
Or nothing more than still to contradict. 
On the other side know also thou that I 

On what I offer set as high esteem, 160 

Nor what I part with mean to give for naught. 
All these, which in a moment thou behold'st. 
The kingdoms of the world, to thee I give 
(For, given to me, I give to whom I please), 
No trifle; yet with this reserve, not else — 
On this condition, if thou wilt fall down, 
And worship me as thy superior lord 
(Easily done) , and hold them all of me ; 
For what can less so great a gift deserve?" 

Whom thus our Saviour answered with disdain: — 170 

"I never liked thy talk, thy offers less; 



328 PARADISE REGAINED. [Book iv. 



Now both abhor, since thou hast dared to utter 

The abominable terms, impious condition. 

But I endure the time, till which expired 

Thou hast permission on me. It is written, 

The first of all commandments, ' Thou shalt worship 

The Lord thy God, and only Him shalt serve ; ' 

And dar'st thou to the Son of God propound 

To worship thee, accursed? now more accursed 

For this attempt, bolder than that on Eve, 1 80 

And more blasphemous ; which expect to rue. 

The kingdoms of the world to thee were given! 

Permitted rather, and by thee usurped; 

Other donation none thou canst produce. 

If given, by whom but by the King of kings, 

God over all supreme? If given to thee, 

By thee how fairly is the Giver now 

Repaid ! But gratitude in thee is lost 

Long since. Wert thou so void of fear or shame 

As offer them to me, the Son of God — 190 

To me my own, on such abhorred pact, 

That I fall down and worship thee as God? 

Get thee behind me ! Plain thou now appear'st 

That Evil One, Satan for ever damned." 

To whom the Fiend, with fear abashed, replied : — 
"Be not so sore offended. Son of God — 
Though Sons of God both Angels are and Men — 
If I, to try whether in higher sort 
Than these thou bar'st that title, have proposed 
What both from Men and Angels I receive, 200 

Tetrarchs of Fire, Air, Flood, and on the Earth 
Nations besides from all the quartered winds — 
God of this World invoked, and World beneath 
Who then thou art, whose coming is foretold 
To me most fatal, me it most concerns. 
The trial hath indamaged thee no way, 
Rather more honour left and more esteem ; 
Me naught advantaged, missing what I aimed. 
Therefore let pass, as they are transitory, 

The kingdoms of this world ; I shall no more 210 

Advise thee ; gain them as thou canst, or not. 
And thou thyself seem'st otherwise inclined 
Than to a worldly crown, addicted more 
To contemplation and profound dispute ; 
As by that early action may be judged, 
When, slipping from thy mother's eye, thou went'st 
Alone into the Temple, there wast found 
Among the gravest Rabbles, disputant 



Book iv.] PARADISE REGAINED. 329 

On points and questions fitting Moses' chair, 

Teaching, not taught. The childhood shows the man, 220 

As morning shows the day. Be famous, then. 

By wisdom ; as thy empire must extend. 

So let extend thy mind o'er all the world 

In knowledge ; all things in it comprehend. 

All knowledge is not couched in Moses' law. 

The Pentateuch, or what the Prophets wrote ; 

The Gentiles also know, and write, and teach 

To admiration, led by Nature's light ; 

And with the Gentiles much thou must converse, 

Ruling them by persuasion, as thou meanest. 230 

Without their learning, how wilt thou with them, 

Or they with thee, hold conversation meet? 

How wilt thou reason with them, how refute 

Their idolisms, traditions, paradoxes? 

Error by his own arms is best evinced. 

Look once more, ere we leave this specular mount, 

Westward, much nearer by south-west ; behold 

Where on the ^gean shore a city stands. 

Built nobly, pure the air and light the soil — 

Athens, the eye of Greece, mother of arts 240 

And eloquence, native to famous wits 

Or hospitable, in her sweet recess, 

City or suburban, studious walks and shades. 

See there the olive-grove of Academe, 

Plato's retirement, w^iere the Attic bird 

Trills her thick-warbled notes the summer long; 

There, flowery hill, Hymettus, with the sound 

Of bees' industrious murmur, oft invites 

To studious musing ; there Ilissus rolls 

His whispering stream. Within the walls then view 250 

The schools of ancient sages — his who bred 

Great Alexander to subdue the world, 

Lyceum there ; and painted Stoa next. 

There thou shalt hear and learn the secret power 

Of harmony, in tones and numbers hit 

By voice or hand, and various-measured verse, 

^olian charms and Dorian lyric odes, 

And his who gave them breath, but higher sung, 

Blind Melesigenes, thence Homer called. 

Whose poem Phoebus challenged for his own. 260 

Thence what the lofty grave Tragedians taught 

In chorus or iambic, teachers best 

Of moral prudence, with delight received 

In brief sententious precepts, while they treat 

Of fate, and chance, and change in human life, 



330 PARADISE REGAINED. [Book iv. 

High actions and high passions best describing. 
Thence to the famous Orators repair, 
Those Ancient whose resistless eloquence 
Wielded at will that fierce democraty, 

Shook the Arsenal, and fulmined over Greece , 270 

To Macedon and Artaxerxes' throne. 
To sage Philosophy next lend thine ear, 
From heaven descended to the low-roofed house 
Of Socrates — see there his tenement — 
Whom, well inspired, the oracle pronounced 
Wisest of men ; from whose mouth issued forth 
Mellifluous streams, that watered all the schools 
Of Academics old and new, with those 
Surnamed Peripatetics, and the sect 

Epicurean, and the Stoic severe. 280 

These here revolve, or, as thou likest, at home, 
Till time mature thee to a kingdom^s weight ; 
These rules will render thee a king complete 
Within thyself, much more with empire joined." 
To whom our Saviour sagely thus replied : — 
" Think not but that I know these things ; or, think 
I know them not, not therefore am I short 
Of knowing what I ought. He who receives 
Light from above, from the Fountain of Light, 
No other doctrine needs, though granted true ; 290 

But these are false, or little else but dreams, 
Conjectures, fancies, built on nothing firm. 
The first and wisest of them all professed 
To know this only, that he nothing knew ; 
The next to fabling fell and smooth conceits ; 
A third sort doubted all things, though plain sense ; 
Others in virtue placed felicity. 
But virtue joined with riches and long life ; 
In corporal pleasure he, and careless ease ; 

The Stoic last in philosophic pride, 300 

By him called virtue, and his virtuous man, 
Wise, perfect in himself, and all possessing, 
Equal to God, oft shames not to prefer, 
As fearing God nor man, contemning all 
Wealth, pleasure, pain or torment, death and life — 
Which, when he lists, he leaves, or boasts he can ; 
For all his tedious talk is but vain boast. 
Or subtle shifts conviction to evade. 
Alas! what can they teach, and not mislead, 

Ignorant of themselves, of God much more, 310 

And how the World began, and how Man fell, 
Degraded by himself, on grace depending? 



SSUM 



Book iv.] PARADISE REGAINED. 331 

Much of the Soul they talk, but all awry ; 

And in themselves seek virtue ; and to themselves 

All glory arrogate, to God give none ; 

Rather accuse him under usual names, 

Fortune and Fate, as one regardless quite 

Of mortal things. Who, therefore, seeks in these 

True wisdom finds her not, or, by delusion 

Far worse, her false resemblance only meets, 320 

An empty cloud. However, many books, 

Wise men have said, are wearisome ; who reads 

Incessantly, and to his reading brings not 

A spirit and judgment equal or superior, 

(And what he brings what needs he elsewhere seek.-*) 

Uncertain and unsettled still remains, 

Deep-versed in books and shallow in himself, 

Crude or intoxicate, collecting toys 

And trifles for choice matters, worth a sponge, 

As children gathering pebbles on the shore. 330 

Or, if I would delight my private hours 

With music or with poem, where so soon 

As in our native language can I find 

That solace? All our Law and Story strewed 

With hymns, our Psalms with artful terms inscribed, 

Our Hebrew songs and harps, in Babylon 

That pleased so well our victor's ear, declare 

That rather Greece from us these arts derived — 

111 imitated while they loudest sing 

The vices of their deities, and their own, 340 

In fable, hymn, or song, so personating 

Their gods ridiculous, and themselves past shame. 

Remove their swelling epithets, thick-laid 

As varnish on a harlot's cheek, the rest. 

Thin-sown with aught of profit or delight. 

Will far be found unworthy to compare 

With Sion's songs, to all true tastes excelling, 

Where God is praised aright and godlike men, 

The Holiest of Holies and his Saints 

(Such are from God inspired, not such from thee) ; 350 

Unless where moral virtue is expressed 

By light of Nature, not in all quite lost. 

Their orators thou then extolPst as those 

The top of eloquence — statists indeed. 

And lovers of their country, as may seem ; 

But herein to our Prophets far beneath. 

As men divinely taught, and better teaching 

The solid rules of civil government, 

In their majestic, unaffected style, 



332 PARADISE REGAINED. [Book iv. 

Than all the oratory of Greece and Rome. 360 

In them is plainest taught, and easiest learnt, , 
\yhat makes a nation happ)', and keeps it so, 
What ruins kingdoms, and lays cities flat ; 
These only, with our Law, best form a king." 

So spake the Son of God ; but Satan, now 
Quite at a loss (for all his darts were spent), 
Thus to our Saviour, with stern brow, replied : — 

" Since neither wealth nor honour, arms nor arts. 
Kingdom nor empire, pleases thee, nor aught 

By me proposed in life contemplative 370 

Or active, tended on by glory or fame, 
What dost thou in this world? The Wilderness 
For thee is fittest place : I found thee there. 
And thither will return thee. Yet remember 
What I foretell thee ; soon thou shalt have cause 
To wish thou never hadst rejected, thus 
Nicely or cautiously, my offered aid, 
Which would have set thee in short time with ease 
On David's throne, or throne of all the world, 
Now at full age, fulness of time, thy season, 380 

When prophecies of thee are best fulfilled. 
Now, contrary — if I read aught in heaven. 
Or heaven write aught of fate — by what the stars 
Voluminous, or single characters 
In their conjunction met, give me to spell, 
Sorrows and labours, opposition, hate, 
Attends thee ; scorns, reproaches, injuries. 
Violence and stripes, and, lastly, cruel death. 
A kingdom they portend thee, but what kingdom, 
Real or allegoric, I discern not ; 390 

Nor when : eternal sure — as without end. 
Without beginning; for no date prefixed 
Directs me in the starry rubric set." 

So saying, he took (for still he knew his power 
Not yet expired), and to the Wilderness 
Brought back, the Son of God, and left him there, 
Feigning to disappear. Darkness now rose. 
As daylight sunk, and brought in louring Night, 
Her shadowy offspring, unsubstantial both. 

Privation mere of light and absent day. 400 

Our Saviour, meek, and with untroubled mind 
After his aery jaunt, though hurried sore. 
Hungry and cold, betook him to his rest. 
Wherever, under some concourse of shades. 
Whose branching arms thick intertwined might shield 
From dews and damps of night his sheltered head; 



Book iv.] PARADISE REGAINED. 333 

But, sheltered, slept in vain ; for at his head 

The Tempter watched, and soon with ugly dreams 

Disturbed his sleep. And either tropic now 

"Gan thunder, and both ends of heaven ; the clouds 410 

From many a horrid rift abortive poured 

Fierce rain with lightning mixed, water with fire 

In ruin reconciled; nor slept the winds 

Within their stony caves, but rushed abroad 

From the four hinges of the world, and fell 

On the vexed wilderness, whose tallest pines. 

Though rooted deep as high, and sturdiest oaks. 

Bowed their stiff necks, loaden with stormy blasts, 

Or torn up sheer. Ill wast thou shrouded then, 

O patient Son of God, yet only stood'st 420 

Unshaken ! Nor yet staid the terror there : 

Infernal ghosts and hellish furies round 

Environed thee ; some howled, some yelled, some shrieked. 

Some bent at thee their fiery darts, while thou 

Sat'st unappalled in calm and sinless peace. 

Thus passed the night so foul, till Morning fair 

Came forth with pilgrim steps, in amice gray, 

Who with her radiant finger stilled the roar 

Of thunder, chased the clouds, and laid the winds. 

And grisly spectres, which the Fiend had raised 430 

To tempt the Son of God with terrors dire. 

And now the sun with more effectual beams 

Had cheered the face of earth, and dried the wet 

From drooping plant, or dropping tree ; the birds, 

Who all things now behold more fresh and green, 

After a night of storm so ruinous. 

Cleared up their choicest notes in bush and spray. 

To gratulate the sweet return of morn. 

Nor yet, amidst this joy and brightest morn, 

Was absent, after all his mischief done, 440 

The Prince of Darkness ; glad would also seem 

Of this fair change, and to our Saviour came ; 

Yet with no new device (they all were spent), 

Rather by this his last affront resolved. 

Desperate of better course, to vent his rage 

And mad despite to be so oft repelled. 

Him walking on a sunny hill he found. 

Backed on the north and west by a thick wood; 

Out of the wood he starts in wonted shape. 

And in a careless mood thus to him said : — 45° 

" Fair morning yet betides thee. Son of God, 
After a dismal night. I heard the wrack. 
As earth and sky would mingle; but myself 



334 PARADISE REGAINED. [Book iv. 

Was distant; and these flaws, though mortals fear them, 

As dangerous to the pillared frame of Heaven, 

Or to the Earth's dark basis underneath, 

Are to the main as inconsiderable 

And harmless, if not wholesome, as a sneeze 

To man's less universe, and soon are gone. 

Yet, as being ofttimes noxious where they light 460 

On man, beast, plant, wasteful and turbulent. 

Like turbulencies in the affairs of men. 

Over whose heads they roar, and seem to point, 

They oft fore-signify and threaten ill. 

This tempest at this desert most was bent ; 

Of men at thee, for only thou here dwell'st. 

Did I not tell thee, if thou didst reject 

The perfect season offered with my aid 

To win thy destined seat, but wilt prolong 

All to the push of fate, pursue thy way 470 

Of gaining David's throne no man knows when 

(For both the when and how is nowhere told). 

Thou shalt be what thou art ordained, no doubt ; 

For Angels have proclaimed it, but concealing 

The time and means ?\ Each act is rightliest done 

Not when it must, but when it may be best./'' 

If thou observe not this, be sure to find 

What I foretold thee — many a hard assay 

Of dangers, and adversities, and pains, 

Ere thou of Israel's sceptre get fast hold ; 480 

Whereof this ominous night that closed thee round, 

So many terrors, voices, prodigies. 

May warn thee, as a sure foregoing sign." 

So talked he, while the Son of God went on, 
And staid not, but in brief him answered thus : — 

" Me worse than wet thou find'st not ; other harm 
Those terrors which thou speak'st of did me none. 
I never feared they could, though noising loud 
And threatening nigh : what they can do as signs 
Betokening or ill-boding I contemn 490 

As false portents, not sent from God, but thee; 
Who, knowing I shall reign past thy preventing, 
Obtrud'st thy offered aid, that I, accepting, 
At least might seem to hold all power of thee, 
Ambitious Spirit ! and would'st be thought my God ; 
And storm'st, refused, thinking to terrify 
Me to thy will ! Desist (thou art discerned. 
And toil'st in vain), nor me in vain molest." 

To whom the Fiend, now swoln with rage, replied : — 

virgin-born! . 500 



Book iv.] PARADISE REGAINED. 335 

For Son of God to me is yet in doubt. 

Of the Messiah I have heard foretold 

By all the Prophets ; of thy birth, at length 

Announced by Gabriel, with the first I kn^v, 

And of the angelic song in Bethlehem field, 

On thy birth-night, that sung thee Saviour born. 

From that time seldom have I ceased to eye 

Thy infancy, thy childhood, and thy youth, 

Thy manhood last, though yet in private bred ; 

Till, at the ford of Jordan, whither all 510 

Flocked to the Baptist, I among the rest 

(Though not to be baptized), by voice from Heaven 

Heard thee pronounced the Son of God beloved. 

Thenceforth I thought thee worth my nearer view 

And narrower scrutiny, that I might learn 

In what degree or meaning thou art called 

The Son of God, which bears no single sense. 

The Son of God I also am, or was ; 

And, if I was, I am ; relation stands : 

All men are Sons of God ; yet thee I thought 520 

In some respect far higher so declared. 

Therefore I watched thy footsteps from that hour, 

And followed thee still on to this waste wild. 

Where, by all best conjectures, I collect 

Thou art to be my fatal enemy. 

Good reason, then, if I beforehand seek 

To understand my adversary, who 

And what he is ; his wisdom, power, intent ; 

By parle or composition, truce or league. 

To win him, or wdn from him what I can. 530 

And opportunity I here have had 

To try thee, sift thee, and confess have found thee 

Proof against all temptation, as a rock 

Of adamant and as a centre, firm 

To the utmost of mere man both wise and good, 

Not more ; for honours, riches, kingdoms, glory, 

Have been before contemned, and may again. 

Therefore, to know what more thou art than man, 

Worth naming Son of God by voice from Heaven, 

Another method I must now begin.-' 540 

So saying, he caught him up, and, without wing 
Of hippogrif, bore through the air sublime, 
Over the wilderness and o'er the plain, 
Till underneath them fair Jerusalem, 
The Holy City, lifted high her towers, 
And higher yet the glorious Temple reared 
Her pile, far off appearing like a mount 



336 PARADISE REGAINED. [Book iv. 



Of alabaster, topt with golden spires : 

There, on the highest pinnacle, he set 

The Son of God, and added thus in scorn : — 550 

'' There stand, if thou wilt stand ; to stand upright 
Will ask thee skill. I to thy Father's house 
Have brought thee, and highest placed : highest is best. 
Now show thy progeny ; if not to stand. 
Cast thyself down. Safely, if Son of God ; 
For it is written, ' He will give command 
Concerning thee to his Angels ; in their hands 
They shall uplift thee, lest at any time 
Thou chance to dash thy foot against a stone.'" 

To whom thus Jesus: "Also it is written, 560 

'Tempt not the Lord thy God.'" He said, and stood; 
But Satan, smitten with amazement, fell. 
As when Earth's son, Ant^us (to compare 
Small things with greatest), in Irassa strove 
With Jove's Alcides, and, oft foiled, still rose, 
Receiving from his mother Earth new strength, 
Fresh from his fall, and fiercer grapple joined. 
Throttled at length in the air expired and fell, 
So, after many a foil, the Tempter proud. 

Renewing fresh assaults, amidst his pride 570 

Fell whence he stood to see his victor fall ; 
And, as that Theban monster that proposed 
Her riddle, and him who solved it not devoured. 
That once found out and solved, for grief and spite 
Cast herself headlong from the Ismenian steep, 
So, strook with dread and anguish, fell the Fiend, 
And to his crew, that sat consulting, brought 
Joyless triumphals of his hoped success. 
Ruin, and desperation, and dismay, 

Who durst so proudly tempt the Son of God. 580 

So Satan fell ; and straight a fiery globe 
Of Angels on full sail of wing flew nigh, 
Who on their plumy vans received Him soft 
From his uneasy station, and upbore. 
As on a floating couch, through the blithe air ; 
Then, in a flowery valley, set him down 
On a green bank, and set before him spread 
A table of celestial food, divine 
Ambrosial fruits fetched from the Tree of Life, 
And from the Fount of Life ambrosial drink, 590 

That soon refreshed him wearied, and repaired 
What hunger, if aught hunger, had impaired. 
Or thirst; and, as he fed, Angelic quires 
Sung heavenly anthems of his victory 



Book iv.] PARADISE REGAINED. 337 

Over temptation and the Tempter proud : — 

" True Image of the Father, whether throned 
In the bosom of bhss, and hght of hght 
Conceiving, or, remote from Heaven, enshrined 
In fleshly tabernacle and human form, 

Wandering the wilderness — whatever place, 600 

Habit, or state, or motion, still expressing 
The Son of God, with Godlike force endued 
Against the attempter of thy Father's throne 
And thief of Paradise ! Him long of old 
Thou didst debel, and down from Heaven cast 
With all his army ; now thou hast avenged 
Supplanted Adam, and, by vanquishing 
Temptation, hast regained lost Paradise, 
And fmstrated the conquest fraudulent. 

He never more henceforth will dare set foot 610 

In Paradise to tempt; his snares are broke. 
For, though that seat of earthly bliss be failed, 
A fairer Paradise is founded now 
For Adam and his chosen sons, whom thou, 
A Saviour, art come down to reinstall ; 
Where they shall dwell secure, when time shall be, 
Of tempter and temptation without fear. 
But thou, Infernal Serpent! shalt not long 
Rule in the clouds. Like an autumnal star. 

Or lightning, thou shalt fall from Heaven, trod down 620 

Under his feet. For proof, ere this thou feel'st 
Thy wound (yet not thy last and deadliest wound) 
By this repulse received, and hold'st in Hell 
No triumph ; in all her gates Abaddon rues 
Thy bold attempt. Hereafter learn with awe 
To dread the Son of God. He, all unarmed, 
Shall chase thee, with the terror of his voice, 
From thy demoniac holds, possession foul — 
Thee and thy legions; yelling they shall fly, 

And beg to hide them in a herd of swine, 630 

Lest he command them down into the Deep, 
Bound, and to torment sent before their time. 
Hail, Son of the Most High, heir of both Worlds, 
Queller of Satan ! On thy glorious work 
Now enter, and begin to save Mankind.'' 

Thus they the Son of God, our Saviour meek, 
Sung victor, and, from heavenly feast refreshed. 
Brought on his way with joy. He, unobserved, 
Home to his mother's house private returned. 

THE END. 



INTRODUCTION 



SAMSON AGONISTES. 



Milton is remembered mainly as an epic poet. But his final choice of the 
epic form for his greatest poem and its companion was the result of delibera- 
tion. Apparently it was even a departure from his original inclination, when 
in his early manhood he had debated with himself in what form of poetry his 
genius would have fullest scope. Two of his early English poems had not 
only been dramatic, but had actually been performed. The Arcades was 
" part of an entertainment presented to the Countess-Dowager of Derby at 
Harefield by some noble persons of her family," probably in the year 1633; 
and Comtis, the finest and most extensive of all Milton's minor poems, was 
nothing else than an elaborate "masque," performed, in the year 1634, at 
Ludlow Castle, in Shropshire, before the Earl of Bridgewater, Lord President 
of Wales, by way of an entertainment to the gentry of the neighbourhood. 
(See Introductions to these two Poems.) Whether Alilton was present at the 
performance of either the Arcades or the Conns is not known; but the fact 
of his writing two such dramatic pieces for actual performance by the mem- 
bers of a family with which he had relations of acquaintance shows that at 
that time — i.e. when he was twenty-six years of age — he had no objection to 
this kind of entertainment, then so fashionable at Court and among noble 
families of literary tastes. That he had seen masques performed — masques of 
Ben Jonson, Carew, or Shirley — may be taken for granted; and we have his 
own assurance that, when at Cambridge, he attended dramatic representations 
there, got up in the colleges, and that, when in London, during his vacations 
from Cambridge, he used to go to the theatres {Eieg. i. 29-46). To the same 
effect we have his lines in V Allegro, where he includes the theatre among the 
natural pleasures of the mind in its cheerful mood — 

" Then to the well-trod stage anon, 
If Jonson's learned sock be on, 
Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child, 
Warble his native wood-notes wild " — 

words which, so far as Milton's appreciation of Shakespeare is concerned, 
would seem poor, if we did not recollect the splendid lines which he had pre- 

339 



340 INTRODUCTION TO 



viously written (1630), and which were prefixed to the second folio edition of 
Shakespeare's plays in 1632 — 

" What needs my Shakespeare for his honoured bones 
The labour of an age in piled stones, 
Or that his hallowed reliques should be hid 
Under a star-ypointing pyramid? 
Dear Son of Memory, great heir of Fame, 
What need'st thou such weak witness," &c. 

Still the unlawfulness of dramatic entertainments had always been a tenet of 
those stricter English Puritans with whom Milton even then felt a political 
sympathy; and Prynne's famous Histriomastix, in which he denounced stage- 
plays and all connected with them through a thousand quarto pages (1632), 
had helped to confirm Puritanism in this tenet. As Prynne's treatise had been 
out more than a year before the Arcades and Com us were written, it is clear 
that he had not converted Milton to his opinion. While the more rigid and 
less educated of the Puritans undoubtedly went with Prynne in condemning the 
stage altogether, Milton, I should say, before the time of his journey to Italy 
(1638-39), was one of those who retained a pride in the drama as the form of 
literature in which, for two generations, English genius had been most produc- 
tive. Lamenting, with others, the corrupt condition into which the national 
drama had fallen in baser hands, and the immoral accompaniments of the 
degraded stage, he had seen no reason to recant his enthusiastic tribute to 
the memory of Shakespeare, or to be ashamed of his own contribution to the 
dramatic literature of England in his two model masques. 

Gradually, however, with Milton's growing seriousness amid the events and 
duties that awaited him after his return from his Italian journey, and especially 
after the meeting of the Long Parliament (Nov. 3, 1640), there came a change 
in his notions of the drama. From this period there is evidence that his 
sympathy with the Prynne view of things, at least as far as regarded the Eng- 
lish stage, was more considerable than it had been — that, while he regarded 
all literature as recently infected with baseness and corruption, and requiring 
to be taught again its true relation to the spiritual needs and uses of a great 
nation, he felt an especial dislike to the popular literature of stage-plays, as 
then written and acted. From this period, if I mistake not, he was practically 
against theatre-going, as unworthy of a serious man, considering the contrast 
between what was to be seen within the theatres and what was in course of 
transaction without them; nor, if his two masques and his eulogy on Shake- 
speare had remained to be written now, do I think he would have judged it 
opportune to write them. Certainly he would not now have written the 
masques for actual performance, public or private. And yet he had not aban- 
doned his admiration of the drama as a form of literature. On the contrary, 
he was still convinced that no form of literature was nobler, more capable of 
conveying the highest and most salutary conceptions of the mind of a great 
poet. When, immediately after his return from Italy, he was preparing him- 
self for that great Enghsh poem upon which he proposed to bestow his full 
strength, and debating with himself what should be its subject and what its 
form, what do we find? We find him, for a while {jyie Reason of Church 
GoTcrnfjient, Introd. to Book II.), balancing the claims of the epic, the 
dramatic, and the lyric, and concluding that in any one of these a great Chris- 
tian poet might have congenial scope, and the benefit of grand precedents and 



SAMSON AGONISTES. 341 

models. He discusses the claims of the Epic first, and thinks highly of them, 
but proceeds immediately to inquire " whether those dramatic constitutions in 
"which Sophocles and Euripides reign shall be found more doctrinal and 
" exemplary to a nation," adding, " The Scripture also affords us a divine Pas- 
" toral Drama in the Song of Solomon, consisting of two persons and a double 
" chorus, as Origen rightly judges; and the Apocalypse of St. John is the 
" majestic image of a high and stately Tragedy, shutting up and intermingling 
" her solemn scenes and acts with a sevenfold chorus of hallelujahs and harp- 
"ing symphonies; and this my opinion the grave authority of Paraeus, com- 
" menting that book, is sufficient to confirm." Here we have certainly a proof 
that no amount of sympathy which Milton may have felt with the Puritan 
dislike of stage-plays had affected his admiration of the dramatic form of poesy 
as practised by the ancient Greek tragedians and others. Accordingly, it was 
to the dramatic form, rather than to either the epic or the lyric, that Milton 
then incHned in his meditations of some great English poem to be written by 
himself. As we have already seen (Introduction to Paradise Lost, pp. 11, 12), 
he threw aside his first notion of an epic on King Arthur, and began to collect 
possible subjects for dramas from Scriptural History, and from the early history 
of Britain. He collected and jotted down the titles of no fewer than sixty 
possible tragedies on subjects from the Old and New Testaments, and thirty- 
eight possible tragedies on subjects of English and Scottish History — among 
which latter, curiously enough, was one on the subject of Macbeth. From this 
extraordinary collection of possible subjects Paradise Lost already stood out as 
that which most fascinated him; but even that subject was to be treated 
dramatically. 

All this was before the year 1642. On the 2d of September in that year — 
the King having a few days before raised his standard at Nottingham, and 
given the signal for the Civil War — there was passed the famous ordinance 
of Parliament suppressing stage-plays " while the public troubles last," and 
shutting up the London theatres. F'rom that date onwards to the Restoration, 
or for nearly eighteen years, the Drama, in the sense of the Acted Drama, was 
in abeyance in England. This fact may have co-operated with other reasons 
in determining Milton — when he did at length find leisure for returning to his 
scheme of a great English poem — to abandon the dramatic form he had formerly 
favoured. True, the mere discontinuance of stage-plays in England, as an 
amusement inconsistent with Puritan ideas, and intolerable in the state of the 
times, cannot, even though Milton approved of such discontinuance (as he 
doubtless did), have altered his former convictions in favour of the dramatic 
form of poetry, according to its noblest ancient models — especially as he could 
have had no thought, when meditating his Scriptural Tragedies, of adapting 
them for actual performance. Such a tragedy as he had meant to write Avould 
not have been the least in conflict with the real operative element in the con- 
temporary Puritan antipathy to the Drama. Still the Dramatic form itself had 
fallen into discredit; and there were weaker brethren with whom it would 
have been useless to reason on the distinction between the written Drama and 
the acted Drama, between the noblest tragedy on the ancient Greek model 
and the worst of those English stage-plays, of the reign of Charles, from which 
the nation had been compelled to desist. Milton does not seem to have been 
indifferent to this feeling. The tone of his reference to Shakespeare in his 
W.KQvoKka(jTt\'i^ published in 1649, suggests that, if he had not then really 



342 INTRODUCTION TO 



abated his allegiance to Shakespeare, he at least agreed so far with the ordinary 
Puritanism around him as not to think Shakespeare-worship the particular 
doctrine then required by the English mind. 

For some such reason, among others, Milton, when he set himself at length 
(in 1658) to redeem his long-given pledge of a great English poem, and chose 
for his subject Paradise Lost, deliberately gave up his first intention of treating 
that subject in the dramatic form. When that poem M'as given to the world 
(1667) it was as an epic. Its companion, Pai-adise Regained, published in 
1 67 1, was also an epic. 

But, though it was thus as an epic poet that Milton chose mainly and finally to 
appear before the world, he was so far faithful to his old affection for the Drama 
as to leave to the world one experiment of his mature art in that form. Samson 
Agonistes was an attestation that the poet who in his earlier years had written 
the beautiful pastoral drama of Cotniis had never ceased to like that form of 
poesy, but to the last believed it suitable, with modifications, for his severer 
and sterner purposes. At what time Samson was written is not definitely 
ascertained; but it was certainly after the Restoration, and probably after 1667. 
It was published in 1 671, in the same volume with Paradise Regained (see title 
of the volume, &c. in Introd. to Paradise Regained, p. 284). For a time the 
connexion thus established between Paradise Regained and Samson Agonistes 
was kept up in subsequent editions; but since 1688 I know of no publication 
of these two poems together by themselves. There have been one or two 
editions of the Samson by itself; but it has generally appeared either in col- 
lective editions of all the poems, or in editions of the minor poems apart from 
Paradise Lost. 

How came Milton to select such a subject as that of Samson Agonistes for 
one of his latest poems, if not the very latest? 

To this question it is partly an answer to say that the exploits of the Hebrew 
Samson had long before struck him as capable of treatment in an Enghsh 
tragedy. Among his jottings, in 1640-41, of subjects for possible Scripture 
Tragedies, we find these two, occurring as the 19th and 20th in the total list — 
" Samson PnrsopJwrtis or Llybristes, or Samson Marrying, or Ramath-Lechi," 
Judges XV.; and '' Dagonalia,'' Judges xvi. That is to say, Milton, in 1640-41, 
thought there might be two sacred dramas founded on the accounts of Sam- 
son's life in the Book of Judges — the one on Samson's first marriage with a 
Philistian woman, and his feuds with the Philistines growing out of that inci- 
dent, when he was Pursophorns {i.e. The Firebrand-bringer) or Llybristes {i.e. 
Violent) ; the other on the closing scene of his life, when he took his final 
vengeance on the Philistines in their feast to Dagon. These subjects, how- 
ever, do not seem then to have had such attractions for Milton as some of the 
otliers in the list; for they are merely jotted down as above, whereas to some 
of the others, such as " Dinah,''' " Abram from Morea," and " Sodom,'' are 
appended sketches of the plot or hints for the treatment. Why, then, did 
Milton, in his later life, neglect so many other subjects of which he had kept 
his early notes, and chng so tenaciously to the story of Sampson? 

The reason is not far to seek ; nor need we seek it in the fact that he had 
seen Italian, Latin, and even English, poems on the story of Samson, which 
may have reminded him of the theme. Todd and other commentators have 



SAMSON AGONISTES. 343 

dug up the titles of some such old poems, without being able to prove that 
they suggested anything to Milton. The truth is that the capabilities of the 
theme, perceived by him through mere poetic tact as early as 1640-41, had 
been brought home to him, wifli singular force and intimacy, by the experience 
of his own subsequent life. The story of Samson must have seemed to Milton 
a metaphor or allegory of much of his own life in its later stages. He also, in 
his veteran days, after the Restoration, was a champion at bay, a prophet- 
warrior left alone among men of a different faith and different manners — Phil- 
istines, who exulted in the ruin of his cause, and wreaked their wrath upon 
him for his past services to that cause by insults, calumnies, and jeers at his 
misfortunes and the cause itself. He also was blind, as Samson had been — 
groping about among the malignant conditions that had befallen him, helplessly 
dependent on the guiding of others, and bereft of the external consolations 
and means of resistance to his scorners that might have come to him through 
sight. He also had to live mainly in the imagery of the past. In that past, 
too, there were similarities in his case to that of Samson. Like Samson, sub- 
stantially, he had been a Nazarite — no drinker of wine or strong drink, but one 
who had always been an ascetic in his dedicated service to great designs. And 
the chief blunder in his life, that which had gone nearest to wreck it, and had 
left the most marring consequences and the most painful reflections, was the 
very blunder of which, twice-repeated, Samson had to accuse himself. Like 
Samson, he had married a Philistine woman — one not of his own tribe, and 
having no thoughts or interests in common with his own; and, like vSamson, he 
had suffered indignities from this wife and her relations, till he had learnt to 
rue the match. The consequences of Milton's unhappy first marriage (1643) in 
his temper and opinions form a marked train in his biography, extending far 
beyond their apparent end in the publication of his Divorce Pamphlets, fol- 
lowed by his hasty reconciliation with his wife after her two years' desertion 
of him (1645). Although, from that time, he lived with his first wife, without 
further audible complaint, till her death about 1652, and although his two sub- 
sequent marriages were happier, the recollection of his first marriage (and it 
was only the wife of this first marriage that he had ever seeji) seems always to 
have been a sore in Milton's mind, and to have affected his thoughts of the 
marriage-institution itself, and of the ways and character of women. In this 
respect also he could find coincidences between his own life and that of Sam- 
son, which recommended the story of Samson with far more poignancy to him 
in his later life than when he first looked at it in the inexperience of his early 
manhood. In short, there must have rushed upon Milton, contemplating in 
his later life the story of the blind Samson among the Philistines, so many 
similarities with his own case, that there is little wonder that he then selected 
this subject for poetic treatment. While writing Samson Agonisies (i.e. Sam- 
son the Agonist, Athlete, or Wrestler) he must have been secretly conscious 
throughout that he was representing much of his own feelings and experience; 
and the reader of the poem that knows anything of Milton's life has this pressed 
upon him at every turn. Probably the best introduction to the poem would 
be to read the Bibhcal history of Samson (Judges xiii. — xvi.) with the facts of 
Milton's life in one's mind. 

The poem was put forth, however, with no intimation to this effect. That, 
indeed, might have been an obstacle to its passing the censorship. Readers 
were left to gather the fact for themselves, according to the degree of their 



344 INTRODUCTTON TO 



information, and their quickness in interpreting. In the prose preface which 
Milton thought fit to prefix to the poem — entitled ** Of that sort of Dramatic 
Poeni. which is called Tragedy " — he concerns himself not at all with the mat- 
ter of the poem, or his own meaning in it, but only with its literary form. He 
explains why, towards the grave close of his life, he has not thought it incon- 
sistent to write what might be called a Tragedy, and what particular kind of 
Tragedy he has taken care to write. The preface ought to be carefully read, 
in connexion with the remarks already made on Milton's early taste for the 
dramatic form of poesy, and the variations to which that taste had been sub- 
jected by circumstances. It will be noted that a large portion of the preface 
is apologetic. Although, after the Restoration, the drama had revived in 
England, and men were once more familiar with stage-plays, Milton evidently 
felt that many of his countrymen still retained their Puritanic horror of the 
Drama, and of all related to it — nay, that this horror might well be increased 
by the spectacle of the sort of plays suppHed to the re-opened theatres by 
Dryden, Wycherley, and the other caterers for the amusement of Charles II. 
and his Court. An explanation might be demanded why, when the Drama 
was thus becoming a greater abomination than ever, a man like Milton should 
give his countenance in any way to the dramatic form of poetry. Accordingly, 
Milton does explain, and in such a way as to distinguish as widely as possible 
between the Tragedy he has written and the stage-dramas then popular. 
" Tragedy, as it was anciently composed," he says, " hath been ever held the 
"gravest, moralest, and most profitable of all other poems." In. order to 
fortify this statement he repeats Aristotle's definition of Tragedy, and reminds 
his readers that " philosophers and other gravest writers " frequently cite from 
the old tragic poets — nay, that St. Paul himself had quoted a verse of Eurip- 
ides, and that, according to the judgment of a Protestant commentator on 
the Apocalypse, that book might be viewed as a tragedy of peculiar structure, 
with choruses between the acts. Some of the most eminent and active men 
in history, he adds, including one of the Fathers of the Christian Church, had 
written or attempted Tragedies. All this, he says, is "mentioned to vindicate 
"Tragedy from the small esteem, or rather infamy, which in the account of 
"many it undergoes at this day, with other common interludes; happening 
" through the poet's error of intermixing comic stuff with tragic sadness and 
" gravity, or introducing trivial and vulgar persons; which by all judicious hath 
" been counted absurd, and brought in M'ithout discretion, corruptly to gratify 
" the people." It is impossible not to see, in the carefulness of this apology, 
that Milton felt that he was treading on perilous ground, and might give offence 
to the weaker brethren by his use of the dramatic form at all, especially for a 
sacred subject. It is hardly possible either to avoid seeing, in the reference to 
the " error of intermixing comic stuff with tragic sadness and gravity," an 
allusion to Shakespeare, as well as to Dryden and the post-Restoration 
dramatists. 

Samson Agonistes, therefore, was offered to the world as a tragedy avowedly 
of a different order from that which had been established in England. It was 
a tragedy of the severe classic order, according to that nolile Greek model 
which had been kept up by none of the modern nations, unless it might be 
the Italians. In reading it, not Shakespeare, nor Ben Jonson, nor Massinger, 
must be thought of, but yEschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides. Claiming this 
in general terms, the poet calls especial attention to his fidelity to ancient 



SAMSON AGOmSTES. 345 



Greek precedents in two particulars — his use of the chorus, and his observa- 
tion of the rule of unity in time. The tragedy, he says, never having been 
intended for the stage, but only to be read, the division into acts and scenes is 
omitted. He does not say, however (and this is worth noting), that, had it 
been possible to produce the tragedy on the stage in a becoming manner, he 
would have objected to its being done. It is said that Bishop Atterbury, about 
1722, had a scheme for bringing it on the stage at Westminster, the division 
into acts and names to be arranged by Pope. It was a fitter compliment when 
Handel, in 1742, made Samson the subject of an Oratorio, and married his 
great music to Milton's as great words. 



SAMSON AGONISTES. 

A DRAMATIC POEM. 
THE AUTHOR 

JOHN MILTON. 

Aristot. Poet, cap 6. Tpa7(j5ta fxifxtjcns Trpd^em (nrov8alas, &c. — Tragoedia 
est imitatio actionis seriae, &c., per misericordiam et metum perficiens talium 
affectuum lustrationem. 



OF THAT SORT OF DRAMATIC POEM CALLED 
TRAGEDY. 



Tragedy, as it was anciently composed, hath been ever held the gravest, 
nioralest, and most profitable of all other poems; therefore said by Aristotle 
to be of power, by raising pity and fear, or terror, to purge the mind of those 
and such-like passions — that is, to temper and reduce them to just measure 
with a kind of delight, stirred up by reading or seeing those passions well 
imitated. Nor is Nature wanting in her own effects to make good his asser- 
tion; for so, in physic, things of melancholic hue and quality are used against 
melancholy, sour against sour, salt to remove salt humours. Hence philoso- 
phers and other gravest writers, as Cicero, Plutarch, and others, frequently 
cite out of tragic poets, both to adorn and illustrate their discourse. The 
Apostle Paul himself thought it not unworthy to insert a verse of Euripides 
into the text of Holy Scripture, I Cor. xv, 33; and Par^eus, commenting on 
the Revelation, divides the whole book, as a tragedy, into acts, distinguished 
each by a Chorus of heavenly harpings and song between. Heretofore men 
in highest dignity have laboured not a little to be thought able to compose 
a tragedy. Of that honour Dionysius the elder was no less ambitious than 
before of his attaining to the tyranny. Augustus Caesar also had begun his 
Ajax, but, unable to please his own judgment with what he had begun, left 
it unfinished. Seneca, the philosopher, is by some thought the author of those 
tragedies (at least the best of them) that go under that name. Gregory 
Nazianzen, a Father of the Church, thought it not unbeseeming the sanctity 
of his person to write a tragedy, which he entitled Christ Suffering. This is 
mentioned to vindicate Tragedy from the small esteem, or rather infamy, 
which in the account of many it undergoes at this day, with other common 
interludes; happening through the poet's error of intermixing comic stuff with 
tragic sadness and gravity, or introducing trivial and vulgar persons : which 
by all judicious hath been counted absurd, and brought in without discretion, 
corruptly to gratify the people. And, though ancient Tragedy use no Pro- 
logue, yet using sometimes, in case of self-defence or explanation, that which 
Martial calls an Epistle, in behalf of this tragedy, coming forth after the 
ancient manner, much different from what among us passes for best, thus 
much beforehand may be epistled — that Chorus is here introduced after 
the Greek manner, not ancient only, but m.odern, and still in use among 
the Italians. In the modelling therefore of this poem, with good reason, the 
Ancients and Italians are rather followed, as of much more authority and 
fame. The measure of verse used in the Chorus is of all sorts, called by the 
Greeks Monostrophic^ or rather Apolelymenon, without regard had to Strophe, 

349 



35° Of that sort of Dra?natic Poem called Tragedy. 



Antistrophe, or Epode, — which were a kind of stanzas framed only for the 
music, then used with the Chorus that sung; not essential to the poem, and 
therefore not material; or, being divided into stanzas or pauses, they may be 
called AllcEostropha. Division into act and scene, referring chiefly to the stage 
(to which this work never was intended), is here omitted. 

It suffices if the whole drama be found not produced beyond the fifth act. 
Of the style and uniformity, and that commonly called the plot, whether 
intricate or explicit — which is nothing indeed but such economy, or disposition 
of the fable, as may stand best with verisimilitude and decorum — they only will 
best judge who are not unacquainted with yEschylus, Sophocles, and Euripides, 
the three tragic poets unequalled yet by any, and the best rule to all who 
endeavour to write Tragedy. The circumscription of time, wherein the whole 
drama begins and ends, is, according to ancient rule and best example, within 
the space of twenty-four hours. 



THE ARGUMENT. 



Samson, made captive, blind, and now in the prison at Gaza, there to labour as in a 
common workhouse, on a festival day, in the general cessation from labour, comes forth 
into the open air, to a place nigh, somewhat retired, there to sit a while and bemoan his 
condition. Where he happens at length to be visited by certain friends and equals of his 
tribe, which make the Chorus, who seek to comfort him what they can; then by his old 
father, Manoa, who endeavours the like, and withal tells him his purpose to procure his 
liberty by ransom; lastly, that this feast was proclaimed by the Philistines as a day of 
thanksgiving for their deliverance from the hands of Samson — which yet more troubles him. 
Manoa then departs to prosecute his endeavour with the Philistian lords for Samson's 
redemption: who, in the meanwhile, is visited by other persons, and, lastly, by a public 
officer to require his coming to the feast before the lords and people, to play or show his 
strength in their presence. He at first refuses, dismissing the public officer with absolute 
denial to come; at length, persuaded inwardly that this was from God, he yields to go 
along with him, who came now the second time with great threatenings to fetch him. 
The Chorus yet remaining on the place, Manoa returns full of joyful hope to procure ere 
long his son's deliverance; in the midst of which discourse an Ebrew comes in haste, con- 
fusedly at first, and afterwards more distinctly, relating the catastrophe — what Samson 
had done to the Philistines, and by accident to himself ; wherewith the Tragedy ends. 



THE PERSONS. 



Samson. 



Manoa, the father of Samson. 
Dalila, his wife. 
Harapha of Oath. 



Public Officer. 
Messenger. 
Chorus of Danites. 



The Scene, before the Prison in Gaza. 



SAMSON AGONISTES. 



5AMS. A little onward lend thy guiding hand 
To these dark steps, a little further on ; 
For yonder bank hath choice of sun or shade. 
There I am wont to sit, when any chance 
Relieves me from my task of servile toil. 
Daily in the common prison else enjoined me, 
Where I, a prisoner chained, scarce freely draw 
The air, imprisoned also, close and damp, 
Unwholesome draught. But here I feel amends — 
The breath of heaven fresh blowing, pure and sweet, lo 

With day-spring born ; here leave me to respire. 
This day a solemn feast the people hold 
To Dagon, their sea-idol, and forbid 
Laborious works. Unwillingly this rest 
Their superstition yields me ; hence, with leave 
Retiring from the popular noise, I seek 
This unfrequented place to find some ease — 
Ease to the body some, none to the mind 
From restless thoughts, that, like a deadly swarm 
Of hornets armed, no sooner found alone 20 

But rush upon me thronging, and present 
Times past, what once I was, and what am now. 
Oh, wherefore was my birth from Heaven foretold 
Twice by an Angel, who at last, in sight 
Of both my parents, all in flames ascended 
From off the altar where an offering burned, 
As in a fiery column charioting 
His godlike presence, and from some great act 
Or benefit revealed to Abraham's race? 

Why was my breeding ordered and prescribed 30 

As of a person separate to God, 
Designed for great exploits, if I must die 
Betrayed, captived, and both my eyes put out, 

353 



354 SAMSON AGONISTES. 

Made of my enemies the scorn and gaze, 

To grind in brazen fetters under task 

With this heaven-gifted strength? O glorious strength, 

Put to the labour of a beast, debased 

Lower than bond-slave ! Promise was that I 

Should Israel from Philistian yoke deliver ! 

Ask for this great deliverer now, and find him 40 

Eyeless in Gaza, at the mill with slaves. 

Himself in bonds under Philistian yoke. 

Yet stay ; let me not rashly call in doubt 

Divine prediction. What if all foretold 

Had been fulfilled but through mine own default? 

Whom have I to complain of but myself. 

Who this high gift of strength committed to me, 

In what part lodged, how easily bereft me, 

Under the seal of silence could not keep, 

But weakly to a woman must reveal it, 50 

Overcome with importunity and tears? 

O impotence of mind in body strong ! 

But what is strength wdthout a double share 

Of wisdom? Vast, unwieldy, burdensome, 

Proudly secure, yet liable to fall 

By weakest subtleties ; not made to rule, 

But to subserve where wisdom bears command. 

God, when he gave me strength, to show withal 

How slight the gift was, hung it in my hair. 

But peace ! I must not quarrel with the will 60 

Of highest dispensation, which herein 

Haply had ends above my reach to know. 

Suffices that to me strength is my bane, 

And proves the source of all my miseries — 

So many, and so huge, that each apart 

Would ask a life to wail. But, chief of all, 

O loss of sight, of thee I most complain! 

Blind among enemies! O worse than chains, 

Dungeon, or beggary, or decrepit age ! 

Light, the prime work of God, to me is extinct, . 70 

And all her various objects of delight 

Annulled, which might in part my grief have eased. 

Inferior to the vilest now become 

Of man or worm, the vilest here excel me : 

They creep, yet see ; I, dark in light, exposed 

To daily fraud, contempt, abuse, and wrong. 

Within doors, or without, still as a fool, 

In power of others, never in my own — 

Scarce half I seem to live, dead more than half. 

O dark, dark, dark, amid the blaze of noon, 80 



SAMSON AGONISTES. 355 



Irrecoverably dark, total eclipse 

Without all hope of day ! 

O first-created beam, and thou great Word, 

'^ Let there be light, and light was over all," 

Why am I thus bereaved thy prime decree? 

The Sun to me is dark 

And silent as the Moon, 

When she deserts the night. 

Hid in her vacant interlunar cave. 

Since light so necessary is to life, 90 

And almost life itself, if it be true 

That light is in the soul. 

She all in every part, why was the sight 

To such a tender ball as the eye confined, 

So obvious and so easy to be quenched, 

And not, as feeling, through all parts diffused, 

That she might look at will through every pore? 

Then had I not been thus exiled from light. 

As in the land of darkness, yet in light. 

To live a life half dead, a living death, loo 

And buried ; but, O yet more miserable ! 

Myself my - sepulchre, a moving grave ; 

Buried, yet not exempt. 

By privilege of death and burial, 

From worst of other evils, pains, and wrongs ; 

But made hereby obnoxious more 

To all the miseries of life, 

Life in captivity 

Among inhuman foes. 

But who are these? for with joint pace I hear no 

The tread of many feet steering this way ; 

Perhaps my enemies, who come to stare 

At my affliction, and perhaps to insult — 

Their daily practice to afflict me more. 

Chor. This, this is he ; softly a while ; 
Let us not break in upon him. 
O change beyond report, thought, or belief! 
See how he lies at random, carelessly diffused, 
With languished head unpropt, 

As one past hope, abandoned, 120 

And by himself given over. 
In slavish habit, ill-fitted weeds 
O'er-worn and soiled. 

Or do my eyes misrepresent? Can this be he, 
That heroic, that renowned. 
Irresistible Samson? whom, unarmed, 
No strength of man, or fiercest wild beast, could withstand ; 



356 SAMSOJV AGONISTES. 



Who tore the lion as the lion tears the kid; 

Ran on embattled armies clad in iron, 

And, weaponless himself, 130 

Made arms ridiculous, useless the forgery 

Of brazen shield and spear, the hammered cuirass, 

Chalybean-tempered steel, and frock of mail 

Adamantean proof: 

But safest he who stood aloof, 

When insupportably his foot advanced, 

In scorn of their proud arms and warlike tools. 

Spurned them to death by troops. The bold Ascalonite 

Fled from his lion ramp ; old warriors turned 

Their plated backs under his heel, 140 

Or grovelling soiled their crested helmets in the dust. 

Then with what trivial weapon came to hand. 

The jaw of a dead ass, his sword of bone, 

A thousand foreskins fell, the flower of Palestine, 

In Ramath-lechi, famous to this day : 

Then by main force pulled up, and on his shoulders bore, 

The gates of Azza, post and massy bar, 

Up to the hill by Hebron, seat of giants old — 

No journey of a sabbath-day, and loaded so — 

Like whom the Gentiles feign to bear up Heaven. 150 

Which shall I first bewail — 

Thy bondage or lost sight,' 

Prison within prison 

Inseparably dark? 

Thou art become (O worst imprisonment!) 

The dungeon of thyself; thy soul 

(Which men enjoying sight oft without cause complain) 

Imprisoned now indeed. 

In real darkness of the body dwells, 

Shut up from outward light . 160 

To incorporate with gloomy night ; 

For inward light, alas ! 

Puts forth no visual beam. 

O mirror of our fickle state. 

Since man on earth, unparalleled, 

The rarer thy example stands, 

By how much from the top of wondrous glory, 

Strongest of mortal men. 

To lowest pitch of abject fortune thou art fallen. 

For him I reckon not in high estate 170 

Whom long descent of birth. 

Or the sphere of fortune, raises ; 

But thee, whose strength, while virtue was her mate. 

Might have subdued the Earth, 



SAMSON AGOmSTES. 



357 



Universally crowned with highest praises. 

Sa;;is. I hear the sound of words ; their sense the air 
Dissolves imjointed ere it reach my ear. 

Chor. He speaks : let us draw nigh. Matchless in might, 
The glory late of Israel, now the grief ! 

We come, thy friends and neighbours not unknown, i8o 

From Eshtaol and Zora\s fruitful vale. 
To visit or bewail thee ; or, if better, 
Counsel or consolation we may bring, 
Salve to thy sores : apt words have power to swage 
The tumours of a troubled mind. 
And are as balm to festered wounds. 

Sa;/is. Your coming, friends, revives me ; for I learn 
Now of my own experience, not by talk. 
How counterfeit a coin they are w^io ' friends ' 
Bear in their superscription (of the most 190 

I would be understood). In prosperous days 
They swarm, but in adverse withdraw their head. 
Not to be found, though sought. Ye see, O friends. 
How many evils have enclosed me round ; 
Yet that which was the worst now least afflicts me, 
Blindness ; for, had I sight, confused with shame, 
How could I once look up, or heave the head, 
Who, like a foolish pilot, have shipwracked 
My vessel trusted to me from above. 

Gloriously rigged, and for a word, a tear, 200 

Fool! have divulged the secret gift of God 
To a deceitful woman ? Tell me, friends. 
Am I not sung and proverbed for a fool 
In every street ? Do they not say, ' How well 
Are come upon him his deserts'? Yet why? 
Immeasurable strength they might behold 
In me; of wisdom nothing more than mean. 
This with the other should at least have paired; 
These two, proportioned ill, drove me transverse. 

C/ior. Tax not divine disposal. Wisest men 210 

Have erred, and by bad women been deceived; 
And shall again, pretend they ne'er so wise. 
Deject not, then, so overmuch thyself. 
Who hast of sorrow thy full load besides. 
Yet, truth to say, I oft have heard men wonder 
Why thou should'st wed Philistian women rather 
Than of thine own tribe fairer, or as fair. 
At least of thy own nation, and as noble. 

Sams. The first I saw at Timna, and she pleased 
Me, not my parents, that I sought to wed 220 

The daughter of an infidel. They knew not 



358 SAMSON AGONISTES. 

That what I motioned was of God ; I knew 

From intimate impulse, and therefore urged 

The marriage on, that, by occasion hence, 

I might begin Israel's deliverance — 

The work to which I was divinely called. 

She proving false, the next I took to wife 

(O that I never had ! fond wish too late!) 

Was in the vale of Sorec, Dalila, 

That specious monster, my accomplished snare. 230 

I thought it lawful from my former act. 

And the same end, still watching to oppress 

IsraePs oppressors. Of what now I suifer 

She was not the prime cause, but I myself, 

Who, vanquished with a peal of words, (O weakness!) 

Gave up my fort of silence to a woman. 

Char. In seeking just occasion to provoke 
The Philistine, thy country's enemy, 
Thou never wast remiss, I bear thee witness ; 
Yet Israel still serves with all his sons. 240 

Sams. That fault I take not on me, but transfer 
On Israel's governors and heads of tribes. 
Who, seeing those great acts which God had done 
Singly by me against their conquerors. 
Acknowledged not, or not at all considered. 
Deliverance offered. I, on the other side, 
Used no ambition to commend my deeds ; 
The deeds themselves, though mute, spoke loud the doer. 
But they persisted deaf, and would not seem 

To count them things worth notice, till at length 250 

Their lords, the Philistines, with gathered powers, 
Entered Judea, seeking me, who then 
Safe to the rock of Etham was retired — 
Not flying, but forecasting in what place 
To set upon them, what advantaged best. 
Meanwhile the men of Judah, to prevent 
The harass of their land, beset me round ; 
I willingly on some conditions came 
Into their hands, and they as gladly yield me 
To the Uncircumcised a welcome prey, 260 

Bound with two cords. But cords to me were threads 
Touched with the flame : on their whole host I flew 
Unarmed, and with a trivial weapon felled 
Their choicest youth ; they only lived who fled. 
Had Judah that day joined, or one whole tribe, 
They had by this possessed the towers of Gath, 
And lorded over them whom now they serve. 
But what more oft, in nations grown corrupt, 



SAMSON AGONISTES. 359 

And by their vices brought to servitude, 

Than to love bondage more than hberty — 270 

Bondage with ease than strenuous Hberty — 

And to despise, or envy, or suspect, 

Whom God hath of his special favour raised 

As their deliverer? If he aught begin. 

How frequent to desert him, and at last 

To heap ingratitude on worthiest deeds ! 

Chor. Thy words to my remembrance bring 
How Succoth and the fort of Penuel 
Their great deliverer contemned. 

The matchless Gideon, in pursuit 280 

Of Madian, and her vanquished kings ; 
And how ingrateful Ephraim 
Had dealt with Jephtha, who by argument, 
Not worse than by his shield and spear, 
Defended Israel from the Ammonite, 
Had not his prowess quelled their pride 
In that sore battle when so many died 
Without reprieve, adjudged to death 
For want of well pronouncing Shibboleth. 

Sams. Of such examples add me to the roll. 290 

Me easily indeed mine may neglect. 
But God's proposed deliverance not so. 

Chor. Just are the ways of God, 
And justifiable to men, 
Unless there be who think not God at all. 
If any be, they walk obscure ; 
For of such doctrine never was their school, 
But the heart of the fool, 
And no man therein doctor but himself. 

Yet more there be who doubt his ways not just, 300 

As to his own edicts found contradicting ; 
Then give the reins to wandering thought. 
Regardless of his glory's diminution. 
Till, by their own perplexities involved, 
They ravel more, still less resolved. 
But never find self-satisfying solution. 

As if they would confine the Interminable, 
And tie him to his own prescript, 
Who made our laws to bind us, not himself, 

And hath full right to exempt 310 

Whomso it pleases him by choice 
From national obstriction, without taint 
Of sin, or legal debt ; 
For with his own laws he can best dispense. 

He would not else, who never wanted means. 



36o SAMSON AGONISTES. 



Nor in respect of the enemy just cause, 

To set his people free, 

Have prompted this heroic Nazarite, 

Against his vow of strictest purity, 

To seek in marriage that fallacious bride, 320 

Unclean, unchaste. 

Down, Reason, then ; at least, vain reasonings down ; 
Though Reason here aver 
That moral verdit quits her of unclean : 
Unchaste was subsequent; her stain, not his. 

But see ! here comes thy reverend sire, 
With careful step, locks white as down. 
Old Manoa : advise 
Forthwith how thou ought'st to receive him. 

Sams. Ay me ! another inward grief, awaked -330 

With mention of that name, renews the assault. 

Man. Brethren and men of Dan (for such ye seem 
Though in this uncouth place), if old respect, 
As I suppose, towards your once gloried friend. 
My son, now captive, hither hath informed 
Your younger feet, while mine, cast back wdth age, 
Came lagging after, say if he be here. 

C/ior. As signal now in low dejected state 
As erst in highest, behold him where he lies. 

Man. O miserable change ! Is this the man, 340 

That invincible Samson, far renowned. 
The dread of Israel's foes, who with a strength 
Equivalent to Angels' walked their streets, 
None offering fight ; who, single combatant, 
Duelled their armies ranked in proud array, 
Himself an army — now unequal match 
To save himself against a coward armed 
At one spear's length? O ever-failing trust 
In mortal strength ! and, oh, what not in man 
Deceivable and vain? Nay, what thing good 350 

Prayed for, but often proves our woe, our bane? 
I prayed for children, and thought barrenness 
In wedlock a reproach; I gained a son, 
And such a son as all men hailed me happy : 
Who would be now a father in my stead? 
Oh, wherefore did God grant me my request. 
And as a blessing with such pomp adorned? 
Why are his gifts desirable, to tempt 
Our earnest prayers, then, given with solemn hand 
As graces, draw a scorpion's tail behind? 360 

For this did the Angel twice descend? for this 



Ordained thy nurture holy, as of a plant 



SAMSON AGOmSTES. 361 



Select and sacred? glorious for a while, 

The miracle of men ; then in an hour 

Ensnared, assaulted, overcome, led bound, 

Thy foes' derision, captive, poor and blind, 

Into a dungeon thrust, to work with slaves! 

Alas! methinks whom God hath chosen once 

To worthiest deeds, if he through frailty err, 

He should not so o'erwhelm, and as a thrall 370 

Subject him to so foul indignities. 

Be it but for honour's sake of former deeds. 

Sains. Appoint not heavenly disposition, father. 
Nothing of all these evils hath befallen me 
But justly ; I myself have brought them on ; 
Sole author I, sole cause. If aught seem vile, 
As vile hath been my folly, who have profaned 
The mystery of God, given me under pledge 
Of vow, and have betrayed it to a woman, 

A Canaanite, my faithless enemy. 380 

This well I knew, nor was at all surprised. 
But warned by oft experience. Did not she 
Of Timna first betray me, and reveal 
The secret wrested from me in her highth 
Of nuptial love professed, carrying it straight 
To them who had corrupted her, my spies 
And rivals? In this other was there found 
More faith, who, also in her prime of love, 
Spousal embraces, vitiated with gold. 

Though offered only, by the scent conceived, 390 

Her spurious first-born, Treason against me? 
Thrice she assayed, with flattering prayers and sighs, 
And amorous reproaches, to win from me 
My capital secret, in what part my strength 
Lay stored, in what part summed, that she might know ; 
Thrice I deluded her, and turned to sport 
Her importunity, each time perceiving 
How openly and with what impudence 
She purposed to betray me, and (which was worse 
Than undissembled hate) with what contempt 400 

She sought to make me traitor to myself. 
Yet, the fourth time, when, mustering all her wiles, 
With blandished parleys, feminine assaults. 
Tongue-batteries, she surceased not day nor night 
To storm me, over-watched and wearied out. 
At times when men seek most repose and rest, 
I yielded, and unlocked her all my heart. 
Who, with a grain of manhood well resolved, 
Might easily have shook off all her snares ; 



362 SAMSON AGONISTES. 

But foul effeminacy held me yoked 410 

Her bond-slave. O indignity, O blot 

To honour and religion ! servile mind 

Rewarded well with servile punishment ! 

The base degree to which I now am fallen, 

These rags, this grinding, is not yet so base 

As was my former servitude, ignoble, 

Unmanly, ignominious, infamous. 

True slavery ; and that blindness worse than this. 

That saw not how degenerately I served. 

Mail. I cannot praise thy marriage-choices, son — 420 

Rather approve them not ; but thou didst plead 
Divine impulsion prompting how thou might'st 
Find some occasion to infest our foes. 
I state not that ; this I am sure — our foes 
Found soon occasion thereby to make thee 
Their captive, and their triumph ; thou the sooner 
Temptation found'st, or over-potent charms. 
To violate the sacred tnist of silence 
Deposited within thee — which to have kept 

Tacit was in thy power. True ; and thou bear'st 430 

Enough, and more, the burden of that fault ; 
Bitterly hast thou paid, and still art paying. 
That rigid score. A worse thing yet remains : 
This day the Philistines a popular feast 
Here celebrate in Gaza, and proclaim 
Great pomp, and sacrifice, and praises loud. 
To Dagon, as their god who hath delivered 
Thee, Samson, bound and blind, into their hands — 
Them out of thine, who slew'st them many a slain. 
So Dagon shall be magnified, and God, 440 

Besides whom is no god, compared with idols, 
Disglorified, blasphemed, and had in scorn 
By the idolatrous rout amidst their wine ; 
Which to have come to pass by means of thee, 
Samson, of all thy sufferings think the heaviest. 
Of all reproach the most with shame that ever 
Could have befallen thee and thy father's house. 

Sains. Father, I do acknowledge and confess 
That I this honour, I this pomp, have brought 
To Dagon, and advanced his praises high 450 

Among the Heathen round — to God have brought 
Dishonour, obloquy, and oped the mouths 
Of idolists and atheists ; have brought scandal 
To Israel, diffidence of God, and doubt 
In feeble hearts, propense enough before 
To waver, or fall off and join with idols : 



SAMSON AGONISTES. 363 

Which is my chief affliction, shame and sorrow, 

The anguish of my soul, that suffers not 

Mine eye to harbour sleep, or thoughts to rest. 

This only hope relieves me, that the strife 460 

With me hath end. All the contest is now 

'Twixt God and Dagon. Dagon hath presumed. 

Me overthrown, to enter lists with God, 

His deity comparing and preferring 

Before the God of Abraham. He, be sure. 

Will not connive, or linger, thus provoked, 

But will arise, and his great name assert. 

Dagon must stoop, and shall ere long receive 

Such a discomfit as shall quite despoil him 

Of all these boasted trophies won on me, 470 

And with confusion blank his worshipers. 

Mafi. With cause this hope relieves thee ; and these words 
I as a prophecy receive ; for God 
(Nothing more certain) will not long defer 
To vindicate the glory of his name 
Against all competition, nor will long 
Endure it doubtful whether God be Lord 
Or Dagon. But for thee what shall be done? 
Thou must not in the meanwhile, here forgot, 
Lie in this miserable loathsome plight 480 

Neglected. I already have made way 
To some Philistian lords, with whom to treat 
About thy ransom. Well they may by this 
Have satisfied their utmost of revenge. 
By pains and slaveries, worse than death, inflicted 
On thee, who now no more canst do them harm. 

Safns. Spare that proposal, father ; spare the trouble 
Of that solicitation. Let me here. 
As I deserve, pay on my punishment. 

And expiate, if possible, my crime, 49° 

Shameful garrulity. To have revealed 
Secrets of 7ne)i, the secrets of a friend, 
How heinous had the fact been, how deserving 
Contempt and scorn of all — to be excluded 
All friendship, and avoided as a blab. 
The mark of fool set on his front ! 
But I God^s counsel have not kept, his holy secret 
Presumptuously have published, impiously, 
Weakly at least and shamefully — a sin 

That Gentiles in their parables condemn 500 

To their Abyss and horrid pains confined. 

Ma7i. Be penitent, and for thy fault contrite; 
But act not in thy own affliction, son. 



364 SAMSON AGONISTES. 



Repent the sin; but, if the punishment 
• Thou canst avoid, self-preservation bids ; 
Or the execution leave to high disposal, 
And let another hand, not thine, exact 
Thy penal forfeit from thyself. Perhaps 
God will relent, and quit thee all his debt ; 

Who ever more approves and more accepts 510 

(Best pleased with humble and filial submission) 
Him who, imploring mercy, sues for life, 
Than who, self-rigorous, chooses death as due ; 
Which argues over-just, and self-displeased 
For self-offence more than for God offended. 
Reject not, then, what offered means who knows 
But God hath set before us to return thee 
Home to thy country and his sacred house. 
Where thou may'st bring thy offerings, to avert 
His further ire, with prayers and vows renewed. 520 

Satns. His pardon I implore ; but, as for life, 
To what end should I seek it? When in strength 
All mortals I excelled, and great in hopes, 
With youthful courage, and magnanimous thoughts 
Of birth from Heaven foretold and high exploits, 
Full of divine instinct, after some proof 
Of acts indeed heroic, far beyond 
The sons of Anak, famous now and blazed. 
Fearless of danger, like a petty god 

I walked about, admired of all, and dreaded 530 

On hostile ground, none daring my affront — 
Then, swollen with pride, into the snare I fell 
Of fair fallacious looks, venereal trains, 
Softened with pleasure and voluptuous life, 
At length to lay my head and hallowed pledge 
Of all my strength in the lascivious lap 
Of a deceitful concubine, who shore me. 
Like a tame wether, all my precious fleece, 
Then turned me out ridiculous, despoiled, 
Shaven, and disarmed among my enemies. 540 

Chor. Desire of wine and all delicious drinks. 
Which many a famous warrior overturns, 
Thou could'st repress ; nor did the dancing ruby, 
Sparkling out-poured, the flavour or the smell. 
Or taste, that cheers the heart of gods and men, 
Allure thee from the cool crystalline stream. 

Satns. Wherever fountain or fresh current flowed 
Against the eastern ray, translucent, pure 
With touch ethereal of Heaven's fiery rod, 
I drank, from the clear milky juice allaying 550 



SAMSON AGONISTES. 365 



Thirst, and refreshed ; nor envied tliem the grape 
Whose heads that turbulent Hquor fills with fumes. 

Chor. O madness ! to think use of strongest wines 
And strongest drinks our chief support of health, 
When God with these forbidden made choice to rear 
His mighty champion, strong above compare. 
Whose drink was only from the liquid brook ' 

Sams. But what availed this temperance, not complete 
Against another object more enticing? 

What boots it at one gate to make defence, 560 

And at another to let in the foe, 
Effeminately vanquished? by which means. 
Now blind, disheartened, shamed, dishonoured, quelled, 
To what can I be useful? wherein serve 
My nation, and the work from Heaven imposed? 
But to sit idle on the household hearth, 
A burdenous drone ; to visitants a gaze, 
Or pitied object ; these redundant locks. 
Robustious to no purpose, clustering down. 

Vain monument of strength ; till length of years 570 

And sedentary numbness craze my limbs 
To a contemptible old age obscure. 
Here rather let me drudge, and earn my bread. 
Till vermin, or the draff of servile food. 
Consume me, and oft-invocated death 
Hasten the welcome end of all my pains. 

Man. Wilt thou then serve the Philistines with that gift 
Which was expressly given thee to annoy them? 
Better at home lie bed-rid, not only idle. 

Inglorious, unemployed, with age outworn. 580 

But God, who caused a fountain at thy prayer 
From the dry ground to spring, thy thirst to allay 
After the brunt of battle, can as easy 
Cause light again w^ithin thy eyes to spring. 
Wherewith to serve him better than thou hast. 
And I persuade me so. Why else this strength 
Miraculous yet remaining in those locks? 
His might continues in thee not for naught. 
Nor shall his wondrous gifts be frustrate thus. 

Sa7ns. All otherwise to me my thoughts portend— 590 

That these dark orbs no more shall treat with light, 
Nor the other light of life continue long, 
But yield to double darkness nigh at hand; 
So much I feel my genial spirits droop. 
My hopes all flat: Nature within me seems 
In all her functions weary of herself; 
My race of glory iim, and race of shame, 



366 SAMSON- AGOiVISTES. 



And I shall shortly be with them that rest. 

Man. Believe not these suggestions, which proceed 
From anguish of the mind, and humours black 600 

That mingle with thy fancy. I, however, 
Must not omit a father's timely care 
To prosecute the means of thy deliverance 
By ransom or how else : meanwhile be calm, 
And healing words from these thy friends admit, 

Sams. Oh, that torment should not be confined 
To the body's wounds and sores, 
With maladies innumerable 
In heart, head, breast, and reins, 

But must secret passage find 610 

To the inmost mind. 
There exercise all his fierce accidents, 
And on her purest spirits prey. 
As on entrails, joints, and limbs, 
With answerable pains, but more intense, 
Though void of corporal sense ! 

My griefs not only pain me 
As a lingering disease. 
But, finding no redress, ferment and rage ; 

Nor less than wounds immedicable 620 

Rankle, and fester, and gangrene. 
To black mortification. 

Thoughts, my tormentors, armed with deadly stings, 
Mangle my apprehensive tenderest parts. 
Exasperate, exulcerate, and raise 
Dire inflammation, which no cooling herb 
Or medicinal liquor can assuage. 
Nor breath of vernal air from snowy Alp. 
Sleep hath forsook and given me o'er 

To death's benumbing opium as my only cure ; 630 

Thence faintings, swoonings of despair. 
And sense of Heaven's desertion. 

I was his nursling once and choice delight. 
His destined from the womb, 
Promised by heavenly message twice descending. 
Under his special eye 

Abstemious I grew up and thrived amain ; 
He led me on to mightiest deeds. 
Above the nerve of mortal arm. 

Against the Uncircumcised, our enemies : 640 

But now hath cast me off as never known, 
And to those cruel enemies. 
Whom I by his appointment had provoked, 
Left me all helpless, with the irreparable loss 



SAMSON AGOmSTES. 367 



Of sight, reserved alive to be repeated 

The subject of their cruelty or scorn. 

Nor am I in the list of them that hope ; 

Hopeless are all my evils, all remediless. 

This one prayer yet remains, might I be heard, 

No long petition — speedy death, 650 

The close of all my miseries and the balm. 

Chor. Many are the sayings of the wise, 
In ancient and in modern books enrolled, 
Extolling patience as the truest fortitude, 
And to the bearing well of all calamities. 
All chances incident to man's frail life, 
Consolatories writ 

With studied argument, and much persuasion sought, 
Lenient of grief and anxious thought. 

But with the afflicted in his pangs their sound 660 

Little prevails, or rather seems a tune " 
Harsh, and of dissonant mood from his complaint, 
Unless he feel within 
Some source of consolation from above. 
Secret refreshings that repair his strength 
And fainting spirits uphold. 

God of our fathers ! what is Man, 
That thou towards him with hand so various — 
Or might I say contrarious? — 

Temper'st thy providence through his short course : 670 

Not evenly, as thou ruPst 

The angelic orders, and inferior creatures mute. 
Irrational and bmte? 

Nor do I name of men the common rout, 
That, wandering loose about, 
Grow up and perish as the summer fly, 
Heads without name, no more remembered ; 
But such as thou hast solemnly elected, 
With gifts and graces eminently adorned, 

To some great work, thy glory, 680 

And people's safety, which in part they effect. 
Yet toward these, thus dignified, thou oft, 
Amidst their highth of noon, 

Changest thy countenance and thy hand, with no regard 
Of highest favours past 
From thee on them, or them to thee of service. 

Nor only dost degrade them, or remit 
To life obscured, which were a fair dismission. 
But throw'st them lower than thou didst exalt them high — 
Unseemly falls in human eye, 690 

Too grievous for the trespass or omission ; 



368 SAMSON AGONISTES. 

Oft leav'st them to the hostile sword 

Of heathen and profane, their carcasses 

To dogs and fowls a prey, or else captived, 

Or to the unjust tribunals, under change of times, 

And condemnation of the ungrateful multitude. 

If these they scape, perhaps in poverty 

With sickness and disease thou bow^st them down, 

Painful diseases and deformed, 

In crude old age ; 700 

Though not disordinate, yet causeless suffering 

The punishment of dissolute days. In fine, 

Just or unjust alike seem miserable, 

For oft alike both come to evil end. 

So deal not with this once thy glorious champion, 
The image of thy strength, and mighty minister. 
What do I beg? how hast thou dealt already! 
Behold him in this state calamitous, and turn 
His labours, for thou canst, to peaceful end. 

But who is this? what thing of sea or land — 710 

Female of sex it seems — 
That, so bedecked, ornate, and gay, 
Comes this way sailing, 
Like a stately ship 
Of Tarsus, bound for the isles 
Of Javan or Gadire, 

With all her bravery on, and tackle trim, 
Sails filled, and streamers waving, 
Courted by all the winds that hold them play; 
An amber scent of odorous perfume 720 

Her harbinger, a damsel train behind? 
Some rich Philistian matron she may seem; 
And now, at nearer view, no other certain 
Than Dalila thy wife. 

Sams. My wife ! my traitress ! let her not come near me. 

Cho7\ Yet on she moves ; now stands and eyes thee fixed, 
About to have spoke ; but now, with head declined. 
Like a fair flower surcharged with dew, she weeps, 
And words addressed seem into tears dissolved. 
Wetting the borders of her silken veil. 730 

But now again she makes address to speak. 

Dal. With doubtful feet and wavering resolution 
I came, still dreading thy displeasure, Samson ; 
Which to have merited, without excuse, 
I cannot but acknowledge. Yet, if tears 
May expiate (though the fact more evil drew 
In the perverse event than I foresaw). 
My penance hath not slackened, though my pardon 



SAMSON AGONISTES. 369 

No way assured. But conjugal affection, 

Prevailing over fear and timorous doubt, 740 

Hath led me on, desirous to behold 

Once more thy face, and know of thy estate, 

If aught in my ability may serve 

To lighten what thou suffer'si, and appease 

Thy mind with what amends is in my power — 

Though late, yet in some part to recompense 

My rash but more unfortunate misdeed. 

Sa?ns. Out, out, hyaena ! These are thy wonted arts. 
And arts of every woman false like thee — 

To break all faith, all vows, deceive, betray; 750 

Then, as repentant, to submit, beseech, 
And reconcilement move with feigned remorse. 
Confess, and promise wonders in her change — 
Not truly penitent, but chief to try 
Her husband, how far urged his patience bears, 
His virtue or weakness which way to assail : 
Then, with more cautious and instructed skill, 
Again transgresses, and again submits ; 
That wisest and best men, full oft beguiled. 

With goodness principled not to reject 760 

The penitent, but ever to forgive. 
Are drawn to wear out miserable days, 
Entangled with a poisonous bosom-snake, 
If not by quick destruction soon cut off. 
As I by thee, to ages an example. 

Dal. Yet hear me, Samson ; not that I endeavour 
To lessen or extenuate my offence, 
But that, on the other side, if it be weighed 
By itself, with aggravations not surcharged, 

Or else with just allowance counterpoised, 770 

I may, if possible, thy pardon find 
The easier towards me, or thy hatred less. 
First granting, as I do, it w^as a weakness 
In me, but incident to all our sex, 
Curiosity, inquisitive, importune 
Of secrets, then with like infirmity 
To publish them — both common female faults — 
Was it not weakness also to make known 
For importunity, that is for naught. 

Wherein consisted all thy strength and safety? 780 

To what I did thou show'dst me first the way. 
But I to enemies revealed, and should not ! 
Nor should'st thou have trusted that to woman's frailty: 
Ere I to thee, thou to thyself wast cruel. 
Let weakness, then, with weakness come to parle, 



370 SAMSON' AGONISTES. 

So near related, or the same of kind ; 
Thine forgive mine, that men may censure thine 
The gentler, if severely thou exact not 
More strength from me than in thyself was found. 
And what if love, which thou interpret'st hate, 790 

The jealousy of love, powerful of sway 
In human hearts, nor less in mine towards thee, 
Caused what I did? I saw thee mutable 
Of fancy ; feared lest one day thou would'st leave me 
As her at Timna ; sought by all means, therefore, 
How to endear, and hold thee to me firmest : 
No better way I saw than by importuning 
To learn thy secrets, get into my power 
Thy key of strength and safety. Thou wilt say, 
'Why, then, revealed?' I was assured by those .800 

Who tempted me that nothing was designed 
»^ Against thee but safe custody and hold. 
That made for me ; I knew that liberty 
Would draw thee forth to perilous enterprises, 
While I at home sat full of cares and fears, 
Wailing thy absence in my widowed bed ; 
Here I should still enjoy thee, day and night. 
Mine and love's prisoner, not the Philistines', 
Whole to myself, unhazarded abroad, 

Fearless at home of partners in my love. 810 

These reasons in Love's law have passed for good. 
Though fond and reasonless to some perhaps ; 
And love hath oft. 

Yet always pity or pardon hath obtained. 
Be not unlike all others, not austere 
As thou art strong, inflexible as steel. 
If thou in strength all mortals dost exceed. 
In uncompassionate anger do not so. 

Sams. How cunningly the sorceress displays 
Her own transgressions, to upbraid me mine ! 820 

That malice, not repentance, brought thee hither 
By this appears. I gave, thou say'st, the example, 
I led the way — bitter reproach, but true ; 
I to myself was false ere thou to me. 
Such pardon, therefore, as I give my folly 
Take to thy wicked deed ; which when thou seest 
Impartial, self-severe, inexorable. 
Thou wilt renounce thy seeking, and much rather 
Confess it feigned. Weakness is thy excuse, 

And I believe it — weakness to resist 830 

Philistian gold. If weakness may excuse. 
What murtherer, what traitor, parricide, 



SAMSON- AGONISTES. 371 

Incestuous, sacrilegious, but may plead it? 

All wickedness is weakness ; that plea, therefore. 

With God or man will gain thee no remission. 

But love constrained thee ! Call it furious rage 

To satisfy thy lust. Love seeks to have love ; 

My love how could'st thou hope, who took'st the way 

To raise in me inexpiable hate. 

Knowing, as needs I must, by thee betrayed? 840 

In vain thou striv'st to cover shame with shame. 

Or by evasions thy crime uncover'st more. 

Dal. Since thou determin'st weakness for no plea 
In man or woman, though to thy own condemning. 
Hear what assaults I had, what snares besides. 
What sieges girt me round, ere I consented ; 
Which might have awed the best-resolved of men. 
The constantest, to have yielded without blame. 
It was not gold, as to my charge thou lay'st, 
That wrought with me. Thou know^st the magistrates 850 

And princes of my country came in person, 
Solicited, commanded, threatened, urged, 
Adjured by all the bonds of civil duty 
And of religion — pressed how just it was, 
How honourable, how glorious, to entrap 
A common enemy, who had destroyed 
Such numbers of our nation : and the priest 
Was not behind, but ever at my ear, 
Preaching how meritorious with the gods 

It would be to ensnare an irreligious 860 

Dishonourer of Dagon. What had I 
To oppose against such powerful arguments ? 
Only my love of thee held long debate. 
And combated in silence all these reasons 
With hard contest. At length, that grounded maxim. 
So rife and celebrated in the mouths 
Of wisest men, that to the public good 
Private respects must yield, with grave authority 
Took full possession of me, and prevailed ; 
Virtue, as I thought, truth, duty, so enjoining. 870 

Sams. I thought where all thy circling wiles would end — 
In feigned religion, smooth hypocrisy ! 
But, had thy love, still odiously pretended, 
Been, as it ought, sincere, it would have taught thee 
Far other reasonings, brought forth other deeds. 
I, before all the daughters of my tribe 
And of my nation, chose thee from among 
My enemies, loved thee, as too well thou knew'st ; 
Too well ; unbosomed all my secrets to thee, 



372 SAMSON- AGOmSTES. 



Not out of levity, but overpowered 880 

By thy request, who could deny thee nothing; 

Yet now am judged an enemy. Why, then, 

Didst thou at first receive me for thy husband — 

Then, as since then, thy country's foe professed? 

Being once a wife, for me thou wast to leave 

Parents and country ; nor was I their subject, 

Nor under their protection, but my own ; 

Thou mine, not theirs. If aught against my life 

Thy country sought of thee, it sought unjustly. 

Against the law of nature, law of nations ; 890 

No more thy country, but an impious crew 

Of men conspiring to uphold their state 

By worse than hostile deeds, violating the ends 

For which our country is a name so dear ; 

Not therefore to be obeyed. But zeal moved thee ; 

To please thy gods thou didst it ! Gods unable 

To acquit themselves and prosecute their foes 

But by ungodly deeds, the contradiction 

Of their own deity, Gods cannot be — 

Less therefore to be pleased, obeyed, or feared. 900 

These false pretexts and varnished colours failing, 

Bare in thy guilt, how foul must thou appear ! 

Dal. In argument with men a woman ever 
Goes by the worse, whatever be her cause. 

Sams. For want of words, no doubt, or lack of breath ! 
Witness when I was worried with thy peals. 

Dal. I was a fool, too rash, and quite mistaken 
In what I thought would have succeeded best. 
Let me obtain forgiveness of thee, Samson ; 

Afford me place to show what recompense 910 

Towards thee I intend for what I have misdone, 
Misguided. Only what remains past cure 
Bear not too sensibly, nor still insist 
To afflict thyself in vain. Though sight be lost, 
Life yet hath many solaces, enjoyed 
Where other senses want not their delights — 
At home, in leisure and domestic ease. 
Exempt from many a care and chance to which 
Eyesight exposes, daily, men abroad. 

I to the lords will intercede, not doubting 920 

Their favourable ear, that I may fetch thee 
From forth this loathsome prison-house, to abide 
With me, where my redoubled love and care. 
With nursing diligence, to me glad office. 
May ever tend about thee to old age, 



SAMSON AGON/STES. 373 

With all things grateful cheered, and so supplied 
That what by me thou hast lost thou least shalt miss. 

Sams. No, no ; of my condition take no care ; 
It fits not; thou and I long since are twain; 

Nor think me so unwary or accursed 930 

To bring my feet again into the snare 
Where once I have been caught. I know thy trains, 
Though dearly to my cost, thy gins, and toils. 
Thy fair enchanted cup, and warbling charms. 
No more on me have power; their force is nulled; 
So much of adder^s wisdom I have learned. 
To fence my ear against thy sorceries. 
If in my flower of youth and strength, when all men 
Loved, honoured, feared me, thou alone could hate me. 
Thy husband, slight me, sell me, and forgo me, 940 

How would'st thou use me now, blind, and thereby 
Deceivable, in most things as a child 
Helpless, thence easily contemned and scorned, 
And last neglected ! How would'st thou insult, 
When I must live uxorious to thy will 
In perfect thraldom ! how again betray me. 
Bearing my words and doings to the lords 
To gloss upon, and, censuring, frown or smile ! 
This jail I count the house of liberty 
To thine, whose doors my feet shall never enter. 950 

Dal. Let me approach at least, and touch thy hand. 

Sams. Not for thy life, lest fierce remembrance wake 
My sudden rage to tear thee joint by joint. 
At distance I forgive thee ; go with that ; 
Bewail thy falsehood, and the pious works 
It hath brought forth to make thee memorable 
Among illustrious women, faithful wives ; 
Cherish thy hastened widowhood with the gold 
Of matrimonial treason : so farewell. 

Dal. I see thou art implacable, more deaf 960 

To prayers than winds and seas. Yet winds to seas 
Are reconciled at length, and sea to shore : 
Thy anger, unappeasable, still rages. 
Eternal tempest never to be calmed. 
Why do I humble thus myself, and, suing 
For peace, reap nothing but repulse and hate, 
Bid go with evil omen, and the brand 
Of infamy upon my name denounced? 
To mix with thy concernments I desist 

Henceforth, nor too much disapprove my own. 970 

Fame, if not double-faced, is double-mouthed. 
And with contrary blast proclaims most deeds ; 



374 SAMSON AGONISTES. 



On both his wings, one black, the other white, 

Bears greatest names in his wild aery flight. 

My name, perhaps, among the Circumcised 

In Dan, in Judah, and the bordering tribes. 

To all posterity may stand defamed. 

With malediction mentioned, and the blot 

Of falsehood most unconjugal traduced. 

But in my country, where I most desire, 980 

In Ecron, Gaza, Asdod, and in Gath, 

I shall be named among the famousest 

Of women, sung at solemn festivals. 

Living and dead recorded, who, to save 

Her country from a fierce destroyer, chose 

Above the faith of wedlock bands ; my tomb 

With odours visited and annual flowers ; 

Not less renowned than in Mount Ephraim 

Jael, who, with inhospitable guile. 

Smote Sisera sleeping, through the temples nailed, 990 

Nor shall I count it heinous to enjoy 

The public marks of honour and reward 

Conferred upon me for the piety 

Which to my country I was judged to have shown. 

At this whoever envies or repines, 

I leave him to his lot, and like my own, 

Chor. She's gone — a manifest serpent by her sting 
Discovered in the end, till now concealed. 

Sa;j/s. So let her go. God sent her to debase me, 
And aggravate my folly, who committed 1000 

To such a viper his most sacred trust 
Of secrecy, my safety, and my life. 

C/ior. Yet beauty, though injurious, hath strange power, 
After offence returning, to regain 
Love once possessed, nor can be easily 
Repulsed, without much inward passion felt, 
And secret sting of amorous remorse. 

Sams. Love-quarrels oft in pleasing concord end ; 
Not wedlock-treachery endangering life. 

C/tor. It is not virtue, wisdom, valour, wit, loio 

Strength, comeliness of shape, or amplest merit, 
That woman's love can win, or long inherit ; 
But what it is, hard is to say. 
Harder to hit. 

Which way soever men refer it, 
(Much like thy riddle, Samson) in one day 
Or seven though one should musing sit. 

If any of these, or all, the Timnian bride 
Had not so soon preferred 



SAMSON AGOmSTES. 375 



Thy paranymph, worthless to thee compared, 1020 

Successor in thy bed, 

Nor both so loosely disallied 

Their nuptials, nor this last so treacherously 

Had shorn the fatal harvest of thy head. 

Is it for that such outward ornament 

Was lavished on their sex, that inward gifts 

Were left for haste unfinished, judgment scant, 

Capacity not raised to apprehend 

Or value what is best, 

In choice, but oftest to affect the wrong? 1030 

Or was too much of self-love mixed, 

Of constancy no root infixed. 

That either they love nothing, or not long? 

Whatever it be, to wisest men and best. 
Seeming at first all heavenly under virgin veil, 
Soft, modest, meek, demure. 
Once joined, the contrary she proves — a thorn 
Intestine, far within defensive arms 
A cleaving mischief, in his way to virtue 

Adverse and turbulent; or by her charms 1040 

Draws him awry, enslaved 
With dotage, and his sense depraved 
To folly and shameful deeds, which ruin ends. 
What pilot so expert but needs must wreck. 
Embarked with such a steers-mate at the helm? 

Favoured of Heaven who finds 
One virtuous, rarely found. 
That in domestic good combines ! 
Happy that house ! his way to peace is smooth : 
But virtue which breaks through all opposition, 1050 

And all temptation can remove. 
Most shines and most is acceptable above. 

Therefore God's universal law 
Gave to the man despotic power 
Over his female in due awe. 
Nor from that right to part an hour, 
Smile she or lour : 
So shall he least confusion draw 
On his whole life, not swayed 
By female usurpation, nor dismayed. 1060 

But had we best retire? I see a storm. 

Sams. Fair days have oft contracted wind and rain. 

Chor. But this another kind of tempest brings. 

Sams. Be less abstruse ; my riddling days are past. 

C/ior. Look now for no enchanting voice, nor fear 
The bait of honeyed words ; a rougher tongue 



376 SAMSON AGONISTES. 



Draws hitherward ; I know him by his stride, 

The giant Harapha of Gath, his look 

Haughty, as is his pile high -built and proud. 

Comes he in peace? What wind hath blown him hither 1070 

I less conjecture than when first I saw 

The sumptuous Dalila floating this way : 

His habit carries peace, his brow defiance. 

Sams. Or peace or not, alike to me he comes. 

Chor. His fraught we soon shall know : he now arrives. 

Har. I come not, Samson, to condole thy chance, 
As these perhaps, yet wish it had not been, 
Though for no friendly intent. I am of Gath ; 
Men call me Harapha, of stock renowned 

As Og, or Anak, and the Emims old 1080 

That Kiriathaim held. Thou know'st me now, 
If thou at all art known. Much I have heard 
Of thy prodigious might and feats performed, 
Incredible to me, in this displeased. 
That I was never present on the place 
Of those encounters, where we might have tried 
Each other's force in camp or listed field; 
And now am come to see of whom such noise 
Hath walked about, and each limb to survey, 
If thy appearance answer loud report. 1090 

Sams. The way to know were not to see, but taste. 

Har. Dost thou already single me? I thought 
Gyves and the mill had tamed thee. O that fortune 
Had brought me to the field where thou art famed 
To have wrought such wonders with an ass's jaw ! 
I should have forced thee soon wish other arms, 
Or left thy carcass where the ass lay thrown ; 
So had the glory of prowess been recovered 
To Palestine, won by a Philistine 

From the unforeskinned race, of whom thou bear'st lioo 

The highest name for valiant acts. That honour, 
Certain to have won by mortal duel from thee, 
I lose, prevented by thy eyes put out. 

Sams. Boast not of what thou would'st have done, but do 
What then thou would'st ; thou seest it in thy hand. 

Har. To combat with a blind man I disdain, 
And thou hast need much washing to be touched. 

Sai7is. Such usage as your honourable lords 
Afford me, assassinated and betrayed ; 

Who durst not with their whole united powers mo 

In fight withstand me single and unarmed. 
Nor in the house with chamber-ambushes 
Close-banded durst attack me, no, not sleeping, 



SAMSON AGONISTES. 377 



Till they had hired a woman with their gold, 

Breaking her marriage-faith, to circumvent me. 

Therefore, without feign'd shifts, let be assigned 

Some narrow place enclosed, where sight may give thee, 

Or rather flight, no great advantage on me ; 

Then put on all thy gorgeous arms, thy helmet 

And brigandine of brass, thy broad habergeon, 1 120 

Vant-brace and greaves and gauntlet ; add thy spear, 

A weaver's beam, and seven-times-folded shield : 

I only with an oaken staff will meet thee, 

And raise such outcries on thy clattered iron, 

Which long shall not withhold me from thy head, 

That in a little time, while breath remains thee, 

Thou oft shalt wish thyself at Gath, to boast 

Again in safety what thou would'st have done 

To Samson, but shalt never see Gath more. 

Ha7'. Thou durst not thus disparage glorious arms 11 30 

Which greatest heroes have in battle worn, 
Their ornament and safety, had not spells 
And black enchantments, some magician's art, 
Armed thee or charmed thee strong, which thou from Heaven 
Feign'dst at thy birth was given thee in thy hair. 
Where strength can least abide, though all thy hairs 
Were bristles ranged like those that ridge the back 
Of chafed wild boars or ruifled porcupines. 

Sams. I know no spells, use no forbidden arts ; 
My trust is in the Living God, who gave me, 1140 

At my nativity, this strength, diffused 
No less through all my sinews, joints, and bones. 
Than thine, while I preserved these locks unshorn, 
The pledge of my unviolated vow. 
For proof hereof, if Dagon be thy god, 
Go to his temple, invocate his aid 
With solemnest devotion, spread before him 
How highly it concerns his glory now 
To frustrate and dissolve these magic spells, 

Which I to be the power of Israel's God 1150 

Avow, and challenge Dagon to the test, 
Offering to combat thee, his champion bold. 
With the utmost of his godhead seconded : 
Then thou shalt see, or rather to thy sorrow 
Soon feel, whose God is strongest, thine or mine. 

Har. Presume not on thy God. Whatever he be. 
Thee he regards not, owns not, hath cut off 
Quite from his people, and delivered up 
Into thy enemies' hand; permitted them 
To put out both thine eyes, and fettered send thee 1160 



378 SAAfSON AGONISTES. 



Into the common prison, there to grind 

Among the slaves and asses, thy comrades. 

As good for nothing else, no better service 

With those thy boisterous locks ; no worthy match 

For valour to assail, nor by the sword 

Of noble warrior, so to stain his honour. 

But by the barber's razor best subdued. 

Sams. All these indignities, for such they are 
From thine, these evils I deserve and more, 

Acknowledge them from God inflicted on me 1170 

Justly, yet despair not of his final pardon, 
Whose ear is ever open, and his eye 
Gracious to re-admit the suppliant ; 
In confidence whereof I once again 
Defy thee to the trial of mortal fight. 
By combat to decide whose god is God, 
Thine, or whom I with Israel's sons adore. 

Ha?'. Fair honour that thou dost thy God, in trusting 
He will accept thee to defend his cause, 
A murtherer, a revolter, and a robber! 11 80 

Sams. Tongue-doughty giant, how dost thou prove me these? 

Har. Is not thy nation subject to our lords? 
Their magistrates confessed it when they took thee 
As a league-breaker, and delivered bound 
Into our hands ; for hadst thou not committed 
Notorious murder on those thirty men 
At Ascalon, who never did thee harm, 
Then, like a robber, stripp'dst them of their robes? 
The Philistines, when thou hadst broke the league, 
Went up with armed powers thee only seeking, 1190 

To others did no violence nor spoil. 

Sams. Among the daughters of the Philistines 
I chose a wife, which argued me no foe. 
And in your city held my nuptial feast; 
But your ill-meaning politician lords, 
Under pretence of bridal friends and guests, 
Appointed to await me thirty spies. 
Who, threatening cruel death, constrained the bride 
To wring from me, and tell to them, my secret. 
That solved the riddle which I had proposed. 1200 

When I perceived all set on enmity, 
As on my enemies, wherever chanced, 
I used hostility, and took their spoil, 
To pay^ my underminers in their coin. 
My nation was subjected to your lords ! 
It was the force of conquest ; force with force 
Is well ejected when the conquered can. 



SAMSON AGOmSTES. 379 

But I, a private person, whom my country 

As a league-breaker gave up bound, presumed 

Single rebellion, and did hostile acts ! 12 10 

I was no private, but a person raised. 

With strength sufficient, and command from Heaven, 

To free my country. If their servile minds 

Me, their deliverer sent, would not receive. 

But to their masters gave me up for nought. 

The unworthier they ; whence to this day they serve. 

I was to do my part from Heaven assigned, 

And had performed it if my known offence 

Had not disabled me, not all your force. 

These shifts refuted, answer thy appellant, 1220 

Though by his blindness maimed for high attempts 

Who now defies thee thrice to single fight, 

As a petty enterprise of small enforce. 

Har. With thee, a man condemned, a slave enrolled, 
Due by the law to capital punishment? 
To fight with thee no man of arms will deign. 

Sams. Cam'st thou for this, vain boaster, to survey me. 
To descant on my strength, and give thy verdit? 
Come nearer ; part not hence so slight informed ; 
But take good heed my hand survey not thee. 1230 

Har. O Baal-zebub ! can my ears unused 
Hear these dishonours, and not render death? 

Sams. No man withholds thee ; nothing from thy hand 
Fear I incurable ; bring up thy van ; 
My heels are fettered, but my fist is free. 

//a?'. This insolence other kind of answer fits. 

Sams. Go, baffled coward, lest I run upon thee, 
Though in these chains, bulk without spirit vast, 
And with one buffet lay thy structure low. 

Or swing thee in the air, then dash thee down, 1240 

To the hazard of thy brains and shattered sides. 

Har. By Astaroth, ere long thou shalt lament 
These braveries, in irons loaden on thee. 

C/ior. His giantship is gone somewhat crest-fallen. 
Stalking with less unconscionable strides. 
And lower looks, but in a sultry chafe. 

Sams. I dread him not, nor all his giant brood, 
Though fame divulge him father of five sons. 
All of gigantic size, Goliah chief. 

C/wr. He will directly to the lords, I fear, 1250 

And with malicious counsel stir them up 
Some way or other yet further to afflict thee. 

Sanis. He must allege some cause, and offered fight 
Will not dare mention, lest a question rise 



38o SAMSON AGONISTES. 



Whether he durst accept the offer or not ; 

And that he durst not plain enough appeared. 

Much more affliction than already felt 

They cannot well impose, nor I sustain, 

If they intend advantage of my labours. 

The work of many hands, which earns my keeping, 1260 

With no small profit daily to my owners. 

But come what will; my deadliest foe will prove 

My speediest friend, by death to rid me hence ; 

The worst that he can give to me the best. 

Yet so it may fall out, because their end 

Is hate, not help to me, it may with mine 

Draw their own ruin who attempt the deed. 

Chor. O, how comely it is, and how reviving 
To the spirits of just men long oppressed. 

When God into the hands of their deliverer 1270 

Puts invincible might, 

To quell the mighty of the earth, the oppressor, 
The brute and boisterous force of violent men, 
Hardy and industrious to support 
Tyrannic power, but raging to pursue 
The righteous, and all such as honour truth ! 
He all their ammunition 
And feats of war defeats, 
With plain heroic magnitude of mind 

And celestial vigour armed ; 1280 

Their armouries and magazines contemns, 
Renders them useless, while 
With winged expedition 
Swift as the lightning glance he executes 
His errand on the wicked, who, surprised, 
Lose their defence, distracted and amazed. 

But patience is more oft the exercise 
Of saints, the trial of their fortitude, 
Making them each his own deliverer, 

And victor over all 1290 

That tyranny or fortune can inflict. 
Either of these is in thy lot, 
Samson, with might endued 
Above the sons of men ; but sight bereaved 
May chance to number thee with those 
Whom patience finally must crown. 

This IdoPs day hath been to thee no day of rest, 
Labouring thy mind 
More than the working day thy hands. 

And yet, perhaps, more trouble is behind ; 1300 

For I descry this way 



SAMSON AGONISTES. 381 

Some other tending; in his hand 
A sceptre or quaint staff he bears, 
Comes on amain, speed in his look. 
By his habit I discern him now 
A public officer, and now at hand. 
His message will be short and voluble. 

Off. Ebrews, the prisoner Samson here I seek. 

Chor. His manacles remark him ; there he sits. 

Off. Samson, to thee our lords thus bid me say: 1310 

This day to Dagon is a solemn feast, 
With sacrifices, triumph, pomp, and games ; 
Thy strength they know surpassing human rate. 
And now some public proof thereof require 
To honour this great feast, and great assembly. 
Rise, therefore, with all speed, and come along, 
Where I will see thee heartened and fresh clad, 
To appear as fits before the illustrious lords. 

Sams. Thou know'st I am an Ebrew ; therefore tell them 
Our law forbids at their religious rites 1320 

My presence; for that cause I cannot come. 

Off. This answer, be assured, will not content them. 

Sa7ns. Have they not sword-players, and every sort 
Of gymnic artists, wrestlers, riders, runners. 
Jugglers and dancers, antics, mummers, mimics, 
But they must pick me out, with shackles tired. 
And over-laboured at their public mill. 
To make them sport with blind activity? 
Do they not seek occasion of new quarrels, 

On my refusal, to distress me more, 1330 

Or make a game of my calamities? 
Return the way thou cam'st ; I will not come. 

Off. Regard thyself; this will offend them highly. 

Sams. Myself! my conscience, and internal peace. 
Can they think me so broken, so debased 
With corporal servitude, that my mind ever 
Will condescend to such absurd commands? 
Although their drudge, to be their fool or jester, 
And, in my midst of sorrow and heart-grief. 

To show them feats, and play before their god — 1340 

The worst of all indignities, yet on me 
Joined with extreme contempt ! I will not come. 

Off. My message was imposed on me with speed. 
Brooks no delay : is this thy resolution ? 

Sams. So take it with what speed thy message needs. 

Off. I am sorry what this stoutness will produce. 

Sams. Perhaps thou shalt have cause to sorrow indeed. 

C/ior. Consider, Samson ; matters now are strained 



382 SAMSON AGONISTES. 



Up to the highth, whether to hold or break. 

He's gone, and who knows how he may report 1350 

Thy words by adding fuel to the flame? 

Expect another message, more imperious, 

More lordly thundering than thou well wilt bear. 

Sams. Shall I abuse this consecrated gift 
Of strength, again returning with my hair 
After my great transgression — so requite 
Favour renewed, and add a greater sin 
By prostituting holy things to idols, 
A Nazarite, in place abominable, 

Vaunting my strength in honour to their Dagon? 1360 

Besides how vile, contemptible, ridiculous, 
What act more execrably unclean, profane? 

Chor. Yet with this strength thou serv'st the Philistines, ' 
Idolatrous, uncircumcised, unclean. 

Sains. Not in their idol-worship, but by labour 
Honest and lawful to deserve my food 
Of those who have me in their civil power. 

Chor. Where the heart joins not, outward acts defile not. 

Sams. Where outward force constrains, the sentence holds : 
But who constrains me to the temple of Dagon, 1370 

Not dragging? The Philistian lords command: 
Commands are no constraints. If I obey them, 
I do it freely, venturing to displease 
God for the fear of man, and man prefer, 
Set God behind ; which, in his jealousy. 
Shall never, unrepented, find forgiveness. 
Yet that he may dispense with me, or thee. 
Present in temples at idolatrous rites 
For some important cause, thou need'st not doubt. 

Chor. How thou wilt here come (Jff surmounts my reach. 1380 

Sams. Be of good courage ; I begin to feel 
Some rousing motions in me, which dispose 
To something extraordinary my thoughts. 
I with this messenger will go along — 
Nothing to do, be sure, that may dishonour 
Our Law, or stain my vow of Nazarite. 
If there be aught of presage in the mind, 
This day will be remarkable in my life 
By some great act, or of my days the last. 

Chor. In time thou hast resolved: the man returns. 1390 

Off. Samson, this second message from our lords 
To thee I am bid say : Art thou our slave. 
Our captive, at the public mill our drudge, 
And dar'st thou, at our sending and command, 
Dispute thy coming? Come without delay; 



SAMSON AGONISTES. 383 

Or we shall find such engines to assail 

And hamper thee, as thou shalt come of force, 

Though thou wert firmlier fastened than a rock. 

Sams. I could be well content to try their art, 
Which to no few of them would prove pernicious ; 1400 

Yet, knowing their advantages too many. 
Because they shall not trail me through their streets 
Like a wild beast, I am content to go. 
Masters' commands come with a power resistless 
To such as owe them absolute subjection ; 
And for a life who will not change his purpose? 
(So mutable are all the ways of men !) 
Yet this be sure, in nothing to comply 
Scandalous or forbidden in our Law. 

Off. I praise thy resolution. Doff these Hnks : 1410 

By this compliance thou wilt win the lords 
To favour, and perhaps to set thee free. 

Sams. Brethren, farewell. Your company along 
I will not wish, lest it perhaps offend them 
To see me girt with friends ; and how the sight 
Of me, as of a common enemy. 
So dreaded once, may now exasperate them 
I know not. Lords are lordliest in their wine; 
And the well-feasted priest then soonest fired 

With zeal, if aught religion seem concerned ; 1420 

No less the people, on their holy-days. 
Impetuous, insolent, unquenchable. 
Happen what may, of me expect to hear 
Nothing dishonourable, impure, unworthy 
Our God, our Law, my nation, or myself; 
The last of me or no I cannot warrant. 

C/ior. Go, and the Holy One 
Of Israel be thy guide 

To what may serve his glory best, and spread his name 
Great among the Heathen round; 1430 

Send thee the Angel of thy birth, to stand 
Fast by thy side, who from thy father's field 
Rode up in flames after his message told 
Of thy conception, and be now a shield 
Of fire ; that Spirit that first rushed on thee 
In the camp of Dan, 
Be efficacious in thee now at need ! 
For never was from Heaven imparted 
Measure of strength so great to mortal seed, 

As in thy wondrous actions Iiath been seen. 1440 

But wherefore comes old Manoa in such haste 
With youthful steps? Much livelier than erewhile 



384 SAMSON AGOmSTES. 



He seems : supposing here to find his son, 
Or of him bringing to us some glad news? 

Man. Peace with you, brethren ! My inducement hither 
Was not at present here to find my son, 
By order of the lords new parted hence 
To come and play before them at their feast. 
I heard all as I came ; the city rings, 

And numbers thither flock : I had no will, 1450 

Lest I should see him forced to things unseemly. 
But that which moved my coming now was chiefly 
To give ye part with me what hope I have 
With good success to work his liberty. 

Chor. That hope would much rejoice us to partake 
With thee. Say, reverend sire ; we thirst to hear. 

Man. I have attempted, one by one, the lords. 
Either at home, or through the high street passing. 
With supplication prone and father's tears. 

To accept of ransom for my son, their prisoner. 1460 

Some much averse I found, and wondrous harsh, 
Contemptuous, proud, set on revenge and spite ; 
That part most reverenced Dagon and his priests : 
Others more moderate seeming, but their aim 
Private reward, for which both God and State 
They easily would set to sale : a third 
More generous far and civil, who confessed 
They had enough revenged, having reduced 
Their foe to misery beneath their fears ; 

The rest was magnanimity to remit, 1470 

If some convenient ransom were proposed. 
What noise or shout was that? It tore the sky. 

Chor. Doubtless the people shouting to behold 
Their once great dread, captive and blind before them. 
Or at some proof of strength before them shown. 

Man. His ransom, if my whole inheritance 
May compass it, shall willingly be paid 
And numbered down. Much rather I shall choose 
To live the poorest in my tribe, than richest 

And he in that calamitous prison left. 1480 

No, I am fixed not to part hence without him. 
For his redemption all my patrimony. 
If need be, I am ready to forgo 
And quit. Not wanting him, I shall want nothing. 

Chor. Fathers are wont to lay up for their sons ; 
Thou for thy son art bent to lay out all : 
Sons wont to nurse their parents in old age ; 
Thou in old age car'st how to nurse thy son, 
Made older than thy age through eye-sight lost. 



SAMSON" AGONISTES. 385 



Man. It shall be my delight to tend his eyes, 1490 

And view him sitting in his house, ennobled 
With all those high exploits by him achieved, 
And on his shoulders waving down those locks 
That of a nation armed the strength contained. 
And I persuade me God hath not permitted 
His strength again to grow up with his hair 
Garrisoned round about him like a camp 
Of faithful soldiery, were not his purpose 
To use him further yet in some great service — 
Not to sit idle with so great a gift 1500 

Useless, and thence ridiculous, about him. 
And, since his strength with eye-sight was not lost, 
God will restore him eye-sight to his strength. 

Choi-. Thy hopes are not ill founded, nor seem vain, 
Of his delivery, and thy joy thereon 
Conceived, agreeable to a father's love ; 
In both which we, as next, participate. 

Maji. I know your friendly minds, and . . . O, what noise ! 
Mercy of Heaven! what hideous noise was that? 
Horribly loud, unlike the former shout. 1 5 10 

Chor. Noise call you it, or universal groan, 
As if the whole inhabitation perished? 
Blood, death, and deathful deeds, are in that noise, 
Ruin, destruction at the utmost point. 

Man. Of ruin indeed methought I heard the noise. 
Oh ! it continues ; they have slain my son. 

Chor. Thy son is rather slaying them : that outcry 
From slaughter of one foe could not ascend. 

Man. Some dismal accident it needs must be. 
What shall we do — stay here, or run and see? 1520 

Chor. Best keep together here, lest, running thither, 
We unawares run into danger's mouth. 
This evil on the Philistines is fallen : 
From whom could else a general cry be heard? 
The sufferers, then, will scarce molest us here ; 
From other hands we need not much to fear. 
What if, his eye-sight (for to Israel's God 
Nothing is hard) by miracle restored, 
He now be dealing dole among his foes, 
And over heaps of slaughtered walk his way? 1530 

Man. That were a joy presumptuous to be thought. 

Chor. Yet God hath wrought things as incredible 
For his people of old; what hinders now? 

Man. He can, I know, but doubt to think he will; 
Yet hope would fain subscribe, and tempts belief. 
A little stay will bring some notice hither. 



386 SAMSON- AGONISTES. 



Chor. Of good or bad so great, of bad the sooner ; 
For evil news rides post, while -good news baits. 
And to our wish I see one hither speeding — 
An Ebrew, as I guess, and of our tribe. 1540 

Messenger. O, whither shall I run, or which way fly 
The sight of this so horrid spectacle. 
Which erst my eyes beheld, and yet behold? 
For dire imagination still pursues me. 
But providence or instinct of nature seems, 
Or reason, though disturbed and scarce consulted, 
To have guided me aright, I know not how. 
To thee first, reverend Manoa, and to these 
My countrymen, whom here I knew remaining, 
As at some distance from the place of horror, 1550 

So in the sad event too much concerned. 

Man. The accident was loud, and here before thee 
With rueful cry; yet what it was we hear not. 
No preface needs ; thou seest we long to know. 

Mess. It would burst forth ; but I recover breath. 
And sense distract, to know well what I utter. 

Man. Tell us the sum ; the circumstance defer. 

Mess. Gaza yet stands ; but all her sons are fallen. 
All in a moment overwhelmed and fallen. 

Man. Sad! but thou know'st to Israehtes not saddest 1560 
The desolation of a hostile city. 

Mess. Feed on that first ; there may in grief be surfeit. 

Man. Relate by whom. 

Mess. By Samson. 

Ma7i. That still lessens 

The sorrow, and converts it nigh to joy. 

Mess. Ah ! Manoa, I refrain too suddenly 
To utter what will come at last too soon. 
Lest evil tidings, with too rude irruption 
Hitting thy aged ear, should pierce too deep. 

Man. Suspense in news is torture; speak them out. 

Mess. Then take the worst in brief: Samson is dead. 1570 

Man. The worst indeed ! O, all my hope's defeated 
To free him hence ! but Death, who sets all free, 
Hath paid his ransom now and full discharge. 
What windy joy this day had I conceived, 
Hopeful of his delivery, which now proves 
Abortive as the first-born bloom of spring 
Nipt with the lagging rear of winter's frost ! 
Yet, ere I give the reins to grief, say first 
How died he ; death to life is crown or shame. 
All by him fell, thou say'st ; by whom fell he? 1580 

What glorious hand gave Samson his death's wound? 



SAMSON AGONISTES. 387 



Mess. Unwounded of his enemies he fell. 

Man. Wearied with slaughter, then, or how? explain. 

Mess. By his own hands. 

Man. Self-violence ! What cause 

Brought him so soon at variance with himself 
Among his foes? 

Mess. Inevitable cause — 

At once both to destroy and be destroyed. 
The edifice, where all were met to see him, 
Upon their heads and on his own he pulled. 

Man. O lastly over-strong against thyself! ^59° 

A dreadful way thou took'st to thy revenge. 
More than enough we know ; but, while things yet 
Are in confusion, give us, if thou canst, 
Eye-witness of what first or last was done. 
Relation more particular and distinct. 

Mess. Occasions drew me early to this city ; 
And, as the gates I entered with sun-rise, 
The morning trumpets festival proclaimed 
Through each high street. Little I had dispatched, 
When all abroad was rumoured that this day 1600 

Samson should be brought forth, to show the people 
Proof of his mighty strength in feats and games. 
I sorrow^ed at his captive state, but minded 
Not to be absent at that spectacle. 
The building was a spacious theatre, 
Half round on two main pillars vaulted high, 
With seats where all the lords, and each degree 
Of sort, might sit in order to behold ; 
The other side was open, where the throng 

On banks and scaffolds under sky might stand : 16 10 

I among these aloof obscurely stood. 
The feast and noon grew high, and sacrifice 
Had filled their hearts with mirth, high cheer, and wine, 
When to their sports they turned. Immediately 
Was Samson as a public servant brought, 
In their state livery clad : before him pipes 
And timbrels ; on each side went armed guards ; 
Both horse and foot before him and behind. 
Archers and slingers, cataphracts, and spears. 

At sight of him the people with a shout 1620 

Rifted the air, clamouring their god with praise. 
Who had made their dreadful enemy their thrall. 
He patient, but undaunted, where they led him, 
Came to the place; and what was set before him. 
Which without help of eye might be assayed. 
To heave, pull, draw, or break, he still performed 



388 SyUfSOAT AGONISTES. 



All with incredible, stupendious force, 

None daring to appear antagonist. 

At length, for intermission sake, they led him 

Between the pillars ; he his guide requested 1630 

(For so from such as nearer stood we heard), 

As over-tired, to let him lean a while 

With both his arms on those two massy pillars, 

That to the arched roof gave main support. 

He unsuspicious led him ; which when Samson 

Felt in his arms, with head a while inclined, 

And eyes fast fixed, he stood, as one who prayed, 

Or some great matter in his mind revolved : 

At last, with head erect, thus cried aloud : — 

" Hitherto, Lords, what your commands imposed 1640 

I have performed, as reason was, obeying, 

Not without wonder or delight beheld; 

Now, of my own accord, such other trial 

I mean to show you of my strength yet greater 

As with amaze shall strike all who behold." 

This uttered, straining all his nerves, he bowed ; 

As with the force of winds and waters pent 

When mountains tremble, those two massy pillars 

With horrible convulsion to and fro 

He tugged, he shook, till down they came, and drew 1650 

The whole roof after them with burst of thunder 

Upon the heads of all who sat beneath. 

Lords, ladies, captains, counsellors, or priests. 

Their choice nobility and flower, not only 

Of this, but each Philistian city round, 

Met from all parts to solemnize this feast. 

Samson, with these immixed, inevitably 

Pulled down the same destruction on himself; 

The vulgar only scaped, who stood without. 

Chor. O dearly bought revenge, yet glorious ! 1660 

Living or dying thou hast fulfilled 
The work for which thou wast foretold 
To Israel, and now liest victorious 
Among thy slain self-killed ; 
Not willingly, but tangled in the fold 
Of dire Necessity, whose law in death conjoined 
Thee with thy slaughtered foes, in number more 
Than all thy life had slain before. 

Seinichor. While their hearts were jocund and sublime. 
Drunk with idolatry, drunk with wine 1670 

And fat regorged of bulls and goats, 
Chaunting their idol, and preferring 
Before our living Dread, who dwells 



SAMSON AGONISTES. 389 



In Silo, his bright sanctuary, 

Among them he a spirit of phrenzy sent, 

Who hurt their minds, 

And urged them on with mad desire 

To call in haste for their destroyer. 

They, only set on sport and play, 

Unweetingly importuned 1680 

Their own destruction to come speedy upon them. 

So fond are mortal men. 

Fallen into wrath divine. 

As their own ruin on themselves to invite, 

Insensate left, or to sense reprobate. 

And with blindness internal struck. 

Seniichor. But he, though blind of sight, 
Despised, and thought extinguished quite, 
With inward eyes illuminated. 

His fiery virtue roused 1690 

From under ashes into sudden flame, 
And as an evening dragon came, 
Assailant on the perched roosts 
And nests in order ranged 
Of tame villatic fowl, but as an eag^le 
His cloudless thunder bolted on their heads. 
So Virtue, given for lost. 
Depressed and overthrown, as seemed, 
Like that self-begotten bird 

In the Arabian woods embost, 1700 

That no second knows nor third, 
And lay erewhile a holocaust. 
From out her ashy womb now teemed. 
Revives, reflourishes, then vigorous most 
When most unactive deemed ; 
And, though her body die, her fame survives, 
A secular bird, ages of lives. 

Man. Come, come ; no time for lamentation now, 
Nor much more cause. Samson hath quit himself 
Like Samson, and heroicly hath finished 1 710 

A life heroic, on his enemies 

Fully revenged — hath left them years of mourning, 
And lamentation to the sons of Caphtor 
Through all Philistian bounds ; to Israel 
Honour hath left and freedom, let but them 
Find courage to lay hold on this occasion ; 
To himself and father's house eternal fame ; 
And, which is best and happiest yet, all this 
With God not parted from him, as was feared, 
But favouring and assisting to the end. 1720 



390 



SAMSON AGONISTES. 



Nothing is here for tears, nothing to wail 

Or knock the breast; no weakness, no contempt, 

Dispraise, or blame ; nothing but well and fair, 

And what may quiet us in a death so noble. 

Let us go find the body where it lies 

Soaked in his enemies' blood, and from the stream 

With lavers pure, and cleansing herbs, wash off 

The clotted gore. I, with what speed the while 

(Gaza is not in plight to say us nay), 

Will send for all my kindred, all my friends, 1730 

To fetch him hence, and solemnly attend, 

With silent obsequy and funeral train, 

Home to his father's house. There will I build him 

A monument, and plant it round with shade 

Of laurel ever green and branching palm, 

With all his trophies hung, and acts enrolled 

In copious legend, or sweet lyric song. 

Thither shall all the valiant youth resort. 

And from his memory inflame their breasts 

To matchless valour and adventures high; 174° 

The virgins also shall, on feastful days, _ 

Visit his tomb with flowers, only bewailing 

His lot unfortunate in nuptial choice, 

From whence captivity and loss of eyes. 
Chor. All is best, though we oft doubt 

What the unsearchable dispose 

Of Highest Wisdom brings about. 

And ever best found in the close. 

Oft He seems to hide his face. 

But unexpectedly returns, ^ 175° 

And to his faithful champion hath in place 

Bore witness gloriously; whence Gaza mourns, 

And all that band them to resist 

His uncontrollable intent. 

His servants He, with new acquist 

Of true experience from this great event. 

With peace and consolation hath dismissed. 

And calm of mind, all passion spent. 



THE END. 



INTRODUCTION 



TO THE MINOR POEMS. 



GENERAL INTRODUCTION. 



Under the date Oct. 6, 1645, ^^^^ entry occurs in the books of the London 
Stationers' Company : " Mr. Moseley entered for his copie, under the hand of 
Sir Nath. Brent and both the Wardens, a booke called Poems in English and 
Latyn by Mr. John Milton, 6^." The meaning of the entry is that on that 
day Humphrey Moseley, then the most active pubhsher in London of poetry, 
old plays, and works of pure fancy, registered the forthcoming volume as his 
copyright, showing Brent's licence for its publication, and the signatures of the 
Wardens of the Company besides, and paying sixpence for the formahty. The 
following is the complete title of the volume when it did appear : — 

" Poems of Mr. John Milton, both English and Latin, compos'd at several times. Printed 
by his true Copies. The Songs were set in Musick by ISIr. Henry Lawes, gentleman of the 
King's Chappel, and one of His Majesties private Musick. 

*' Baccare frontem 

Cingite, ne vati noceat mala lingua futuro.' 

Virgil, Eclog. 7. 

Printed and publish'd according to Order. London, Printed by Ruth Raworth, for Humphrey 
Moseley, and are to be sold at the signe of the Princes Arms in Pauls Churchyard. 1645." 

From a copy of this first edition of Milton's Poems among the King's Pam- 
phlets in the British Museum, bearing a note of the precise day of its pubHca- 
tion written on the title-page, I learn that the day was Jan. 2, 1645-6. Milton 
had then been some months in his new dwelling-house in Barbican; where, 
besides his pupils, there were now domiciled with him his reconciled wife, his \ 
aged father, and several of his wife's relations. 

The volume published by Moseley is a small and rather neat octavo of more 
than 200 pages. The English Poems come first and fill 120 pages; after 
which, with a separate title-page, and filling 88 pages, separately numbered, 
come the Latin Poems. The poems contained in the volume, whether in the 
English or the Latin portion, include, with two exceptions, all those which 
are now known to have been written by Milton, at different periods, from 
his boyhood at St. Paul's School to the year 1645, in which the volume was 
published. The exceptions are the little elegy " On the Death of a fair Infant 
dying of a Cough" (1626), and the curious little fragment, "At a Vacation 
Exercise at College " (1628). Prefixed to the volume as a whole, and doubtless 
with Milton's sanction, was a very eulogistic Preface by Moseley, entitled " The 
Stationer to the Reader " (see it at the beginning of the Minor Poems). Then, 
before Comus, which begins on p. 67 of the volume, there is a separate title-page, 
as if to call attention to its greater length and importance — besides which, 

393 



394 GENERAL INTRODUCTION. 

Lawes's eulogistic dedication of this poem to Lord Brackley, in his separate 
edition of 1637, ^^ reproduced (see it prefixed to Comns in this ed.), and the 
poem is farther introduced by a copy furnished by Milton of Sir Henry Wotton's 
remarkable letter to him in 1638 (also prefixed to Comus in this ed.). Finally, 
prefixed to the Latin Poems in the volume, after the separate title-page which 
distinguishes them from the English portion, are copies of the commendatory 
verses, &c., with which Milton had been favoured when abroad by the distin- 
guished foreigners who had seen some of these poems, or otherwise become 
acquainted with him. Only in one peculiarity of the volume was there a mis- 
carriage. It had been proposed, apparently by Moseley, that there should be 
a portrait of Milton prefixed to the volume; and the engraver to whom Moseley 
had entrusted the thing was one W. Marshall, who had executed other portraits 
of men of the day, and was of some respectability in his profession. But, 
whether Marshall worked carelessly from an oil-painting then in Milton's 
possession, or only concocted something out of his own head, the print which 
he produced bore no earthly resemblance to Milton, or indeed to any possible 
human being. Though entitled " yoamiis Aliltoni Angli Effigies anno atatis 
viges. privio,^'' ("Portrait of John Milton, Englishman, in the 21st year of his 
age,") it exhibited a stolid, grim-looking, long-haired gentleman, of about 
fifty, with a background of trees and a meadow, and shepherds dancing and 
piping, seen through a window. What Milton thought when this engraving of 
himself was shown him we can only guess. But, instead of having it cancelled, 
he let it go forth with the volume — only taking his revenge by a practical joke 
at the engraver's expense. He offered him some lines of Greek verse to be 
engraved ornamentally under the portrait; and these lines the poor artist did 
innocently engrave, little thinking what they meant. An English translation 
of them may run thus — 

That an unskilful hand had carved this print 
You'd say at once, seeing the living face; 
But, finding here no jot of me, my friends, 
Laugh at the wretched artist's mis-attempt. 

Such was the First Edition of Milton's Miscellaneous Poems, published in 
1645, when the author was thirty-seven years of age. The volume seems to 
have had no great circulation; but it sufficed to keep alive, for the next 
two-and-twenty years, or till the publication of Paradise Lost in 1667, the 
recollection that the man who, through this long period, was becoming more 
and more known for his Revolutionary principles and his connexion with the 
Commonwealth government, had begun life as a poet. 

Paradise Lost having been followed, in 1 671, by Paradise Pegained and 
Samson Agonistes, the popularity of these three great poems of Milton's later 
years seems to have re-awakened so much demand for his earlier Poems as 
to make a new edition of them desirable. Accordingly, in 1673, or twenty- 
eight years after Moseley had published the first edition, a second edition of 
the Minor Poems did appear, under Milton's own superintendence. This Second 
Edition, which, like the first, was a small octavo, bore the following title : — 

"Poems, &€., upon Several Occasions. By Mr. John Milton: both English and Latin, 
&c. Composed at several times. With a small Tractate of Education. To Mr. Hartlib. 
London, Printed for Tho. Bring, at the White Lion, next Chancery Lane End, in Fleet 
Street. 1673." [So in copies which I have seen; but in a copy now before me, the latter part 
of the imprint runs thus: — " London: Printed for Thos. Bring, at the Blew Anchor next 
Mitre Court over against Fetter Lane in Fleet Street. 1673."] 



GENERAL INTRODUCTION. 395 

In this second edition, as compared with the first, the following particulars 
are to be noted : (i) There were certain additions. The chief of these were, 
of course, those English and Latin pieces which had been written by Milton 
since the first edition was published. For obvious reasons, indeed, Milton did 
not think it advisable, at that date, to publish his sonnets to Fairfax, Vane, and 
Cromwell, nor that second one to Cyriack Skinner in which he speaks with 
exultation of his own services in the Republican cause. With these exceptions, 
however, all the pieces written since 1645 were now published by Milton 
himself in this second edition. But there were also included in this edition 
those two English pieces, which, though written long before the pubUcation of 
the first edition, had not appeared in it, viz. : the elegy " On the Death of a 
fair Infant dying of a Cough," written in 1626, and the fragment, "At a 
Vacation Exercise at College," written in 1628. Copies of these two pieces 
had apparently been recovered by Milton, and their insertion in the new 
edition was certainly a gain to that edition. (2) To some copies of this second 
edition of the Poems there was prefixed a new portrait of Milton, superseding 
the caricature by Marshall prefixed to the first edition. But the jocular Greek 
lines on Marshall's portrait which had appeared in the first edition were still 
preserved. They were printed among the Sylvje in the new edition, with the 
title " In Effigiei ejus Sculptorem." (3) From the new edition were omitted 
Moseley's Preface to the first edition, and also the two pieces of English prose 
which had been specially inserted in the first as introductions to the Coimis — 
viz. Lawes's Dedication of the Coinus to Lord Brackley in 1637, ^^'^^ Sir Henry 
Wotton's letter of 1638. Milton probably thought that these laudatory 
introductions were no longer required. He still kept, however, the compli- 
mentary verses, &c., of his foreign friends^ prefixed to the Latin poems. 

To most of the editions of the Minor Poems that have appeared since Milton's 
own second edition of 1673 there have, of course, been added such scraps of 
verse, not inserted in that edition, as Milton would himself have included in any 
final edition. Thus the scraps of verse, whether in English or Latin, interspersed 
through his prose-writings, are now properly collected and inserted among the 
Poems. Those four English Sonnets, also, which Milton had, from prudential 
reasons, omitted in the edition of 1673, are now in their places. After the 
Revolution of 1688 there was no reason for withholding these interesting 
sonnets from the public; and, accordingly, when Milton's nephew, Edward 
Phillips, published, in 1694, an English edition of the "Letters of State" 
which had been written by his uncle as Latin Secretary during the Common- 
wealth, and prefixed to these Letters his Memoir of his uncle, he very properly 
printed the four missing sonnets as an appendix to the Memoir. From that 
time they have always been included in editions of the Poems. 

Even had Milton not given his Minor Poems to the world in print during 
his lifetime, those interesting productions of his genius would not have been 
wholly lost. From the time when he had first begun to write poems or other 
things, he had carefully kept the MSS.; and it so chances that a larger 
quantity of Milton's original MSS. has been preserved than of the original 
MSS. of most other English poets of that age. Not a few of Milton's papers, 
either loose, or forming a kind of large draft-book, had come into the posses- 
sion of Sir Henry Newton Puckering, Bart., a scholar and book-collector of 
the seventeenth century; and as, on his death in 1700, he left his collection 
of books to the Library of Trinity College, Cambridge, these papers lay about 



396 GENERAL INTRODUCTION, 



in that Library till 1736, when they were carefully put together and bound in 
morocco. Accordingly, this thin morocco-bound volume of Milton MSS. is 
to this day one of the most precious curiosities in the Library of Trinity 
College. It is shown to visitors in a glass table-case, arranged so as to 
gratify them with the sight of a page or two of Milton's autograph. By 
permission of the Master and Fellows, but only in the presence of one of the 
Fellows, it may be removed from the case for more leisurely examination. 
The volume consists of fifty-four pages, all of folio size, except an interpolated 
leaf or two of small quarto. Eight of the pages are blank; all the other 
forty-six are written on, most of them very closely. The following is a list of 
the contents in the order in which they stand: — Arcades (draft in Milton's 
own hand) ; Song, At a solemn Music (Milton's own hand) ; Sonnet on his 
having arrived at the age of tzaejtty- three (in Milton's own hand, as part of 
Prose Letter to a Friend, of which there are two drafts) ; On Time (Milton's 
own hand) ; Upon the Circumcision (Milton's own hand) ; Sonnet VIII. (in 
the hand of an amanuensis) ; Sonnets IX. and X. (Milton's own hand) ; 
Comus and Lycidas, entire drafts, much corrected (in Milton's own hand) ; 
Seven pages of Jottings of Subjects for Tragedies (Milton's own hand: see 
Introd. to F. L., to P. T., and to Saws. Ag.) ; Sonnets XI— XI F. (in Milton's 
own hand, but with copies in another hand); Sonnet XV. : To Fairfax (in 
Milton's own hand); Sonnet XVI. : To Crounvell (in the hand of some 
amanuensis); Sonnet XVII. : To Vane (also in another hand); lines on 
the Forcers of Conscience (also in another hand); Soiincts XXI. — XXIII. 
(also in the hands of amanuenses). It thus appears that in this precious 
volume at Cambridge there are preserved (mostly in Milton's own hand, but 
occasionally in the hands of amanuenses, who either transcribed from his 
original drafts before he was blind, or, after he was blind, wrote to his 
dictation) actual MS. copies of much the larger part of all Milton's Minor 
English Poetry. 



INTRODUCTIONS 
TO THE ENGLISH POEMS. 

Paraphrases on Psalms CXIV. and CXXXVI. 

These were done, as the author himself takes care to tell us, " at fifteen years 
old" — i.e. in 1624. They are, in fact, the only specimens now extant of 
Milton's muse before he went to Cambridge. They are the relics, doubtless, 
of a little collection of boyish performances, now lost, with which he amused 
himself, and perhaps pleased his father and his teachers, when he lived in his 
father's house in Bread Street, Cheapside, and attended the neighbouring 
school of St. Paul's. They prove him to have been even then a careful reader 
of contemporary English poetry, and, in particular, of Spenser, and of 
Sylvester's quaint and old-fashioned, but richly poetical, translation of the 
Divine Weekes and IVorkcs of the French religious poet Du Bartas. This 
book, which had been published in 1605 by Humphrey Lownes, a well-known 
printer of Bread Street Hill, close to Milton's father's house, was as popular 
in England as the original was on the Continent. It went through several 
editions while Sylvester lived, and almost every pious English household of 
literary tastes possessed a copy. 

On the Death of a Fair Infant dying of a Cough. 

Over this poem Milton has himself placed the words " A7ino (tiatis 17," 
implying that it was written in his 17th year. Now, as Milton entered his 
seventeenth year on the 9th of December, 1624, and ended it on the 9th of 
December, 1625, this would place the poem between these dates. But, when 
Milton placed Arabic figures after the phrase anno cvtatis in these headings of 
his poems, it was his habit to give himself the benefit of a year l)y under- 
standing the figures as noting cardinal and not ordinal numbers. ''Anno 
cBtatis 17" meant, with him, not strictly "in his seventeenth year," but "at 
seventeen years of age." The present poem, accordingly, was actually written 
in the winter of 1625-6, or during Milton's second academic year at Cambridge. 
It is the first of his preserved English pieces of the Cambridge period, but 
seems to have been written, not at Cambridge, but in the course of a brief 

397 



398 THE ENGLISH POEMS. 

visit made to London between the Michaelmas Term and the Lent Term of 
the academic year — i.e. between December 1 6, 1625, and January 13, 1625-6. 
The subject of it was the death of an infant niece of the poet, the first child 
of his only surviving sister Anne Milton, who was several years older than 
himself, and had been recently married to a Mr. Edward Phillips, a native of 
Shrewsbury, but resident in London, where he held a situation in the Crown 
Office in Chancery. When in town from Cambridge, Milton had seen the 
"fair infant," whether in his father's house in Bread Street, or in his sister's 
own house, which was " in the Strand, near Charing Cross." But the hfe of 
the little creature was to be short. The autumn of 1625 was a particularly 
unhealthy one in London — the Plague then raging there with such violence 
that as many as 35,000 persons were said to have died of it during that season 
within the Bills of Mortality. There is an allusion to this prevalence of the 
Plague in the last stanza but one of the poem. Not to the Plague, however, 
but to the general inclemency of the succeeding winter, did the dehcate little 
blossom fall a victim. She died " of a cough " — i.e. of some affection of the 
lungs. 

At a Vacation Exercise in the College. 

The heading prefixed to this piece by Milton is, more completely, as 
follows: — '■^ Anno cetatis 19: At a Vacation Exercise in the College, pa7't 
Latin, part English : the Latin Speeches ended, the English thus beganP The 
piece, in fact, was written in 1628, or during Milton's fourth academic year at 
Cambridge, and, as the title implies, was but a fragment of a much longer and 
more composite exercise or discourse, part of which was in Latin, written for 
some ceremonial at Christ's College in the vacation of that year — i.e. after 
the close of the Easter Term on the 4th of July. 

Fortunately, the College Exercise to which this piece belonged still exists. 
It is the S,ixth of those seven juvenile Latin Essays of Milton called Prolusion cs 
Oratoria (now included in his collected prose-works) which were first 
published in 1674, the last year of his life, in conjunction with his Epistolce 
Familiares, or Latin Familiar Epistles. All the seven Prolusiones are 
interesting as throwing light on Milton's career at the University, and his 
success in those public debates and discussions on scholastic and philosophical 
topics which formed in those days so important a part of College' and 
University training. The Sixth, however, is nearly the longest, and is perhaps 
the most interesting altogether. It is entitled " In Feriis yEstivis Collegii, 
sed conciirrente, ut solet, tota fere Acadefuice juvefittite, Or alio : Exercitationes 
nonnunquam ludicras Philosophice studiis non obesse ; " which may be translated 
thus, *'/w the Summer Vacation of the College., but in the presence, as usual, of 
a concourse of nearly the whole youth of the University, an Oration to this 
effect : That occasional sportive exercises are not inconsistent zoith philosophical 
studies.''^ The Essay, then, was an actual speech delivered by Milton in the 
hall of Christ's College, Cambridge, on an occasion of periodical revel, when, 
not only his fellow-collegians, but a crowd of students from other colleges, 
were present. Milton had nearly completed his undergraduate course, and 
had his degree of B.A. in prospect; and he was probably chosen to lead the 
revels on account of his pre-eminent reputation among the undergraduates of 
Christ's. "The revels," we say; for, in reading the speech itself, we become 



AT A VACATION EXERCISE. 399 

aware that the circumstances were those of some annual academic saturnalia, 
when the college hall was a scene of festivity, practical joking, and fun of all 
kinds, and when the president — styled, in academic phrase, " the Father " for 
the nonce — was expected to enliven the proceedings with a speech full of 
jests and personalities, and to submit in turn to interruptions, laughter, and 
outcries from his noisy " sons." Milton, though confessing in the course of 
his speech that fun was hardly his element, and that his " faculty in festivities 
and quips " was very slight, seems to have acquitted himself in his character 
of " Father," or elected master of the revels, with unusual distinction. At all 
events he took trouble enough. His entire discourse must have taken at least 
an hour and a half in the delivery. As originally delivered, it consisted of 
three parts — first, a serio-comic discourse, in Latin prose, on the theme " that 
sportive exercises on occasion are not inconsistent ivith the studies of Philosophy ; " 
secondly, a more expressly comic harangue, also in Latin prose, in which he 
assumes the character of Father of the meeting, addresses his sons jocularly, 
and leads off the orgy; and, thirdly, a conclusion in English, partly verse and 
partly prose, consisting of dramatic speeches. 

In the middle part, or Latin comic harangue, we have, amid many coarse 
jocosities, and personal allusions to individual fellow-students not now intelli- 
gible, the following passage explanatory of what is to follow : " I turn me, 
" therefore, as Father, to my sons, of whom I behold a goodly number; and 
" I see too that the mischievous little rogues acknowledge me to be their 
" father by secretly bobbing their heads. Do you ask what are to be their 
" names ? I will not, by taking the names of dishes, give my sons to be 
" eaten by you, for that would be too much akin to the ferocity of Tantalus 
*' and Lycaon; nor will I designate them by the names of parts of the body, 
" lest you should think that I had begotten so many bits of men instead of 
"whole men; nor is it my pleasure to call them after the kinds of wine, 
" lest what I should say should be not according to Bacchus. I wish them 
" to be named according to the number of the Predicaments, that so I may 
" express their distinguished birth and their liberal manner of life." The 
meaning of which passage seems to be that it was the custom at such meetings 
for the "Father" to confer nicknames for the nonce on such of his fellow- 
students as were more particularly associated with him as his " sons," and, as 
such, had perhaps to take a prominent part, under him, in the proceedings; 
and that Milton, instead of following old practice, and calling his sons by 
such rigmarole names as Beef, Mutton, Pork, &c. (names of dishes), or Head, 
Neck, Breast, Sec. (names of parts of the body), or Sack, Rhenish, Sherris, &c. 
(names of wines), proposed to call them after the famous Ten Predicaments 
or Categories of Aristotle. These Predicaments or Categories were all 
regarded as subdivisions of the one supreme category of Ens or Being. First 
Ens was subdivided into the two general categories of Ens per se or Substance, 
and Ejts per accidens or Accident. By farther divisions and subdivisions, 
however. Accident was made to split itself into nine subordinate categories — i 
Quantity, Quality, Relation, Action, Passion, Place where, Time when. Posture, j 
and Habit. Prefix to these nine categories, developed out of Accident, the | 
one unbroken category of Substance, and you have the Ten Aristotelian | 
Categories or Predicaments, once so famous in the schools. What Milton | 
said, therefore, was virtually this: — I, as Father, choose to represent myself = 
as Ens or Being in general, undivided Being; and you, my sons, Messrs. So . 



400 THE ENGLISH POEMS. 



and So and So and So (to wit, certain students of Christ's acting along with 
Milton in the farce), are to regard yourselves as respectively Substance, 
Quantity, Quality, Relation, Action, Passion, Place, Time, Posture, and Habit. 
Thus I have assigned you your parts in what is to follow of our proceedings. 

We have here then the key to the dramatic speeches in English with which 
Milton's address was wound up. After apologizing for having detained the 
audience so long with his Latin harangue, he announces that he is about to 
break the University statutes (which ordained that all academic discourses, 
&c., should be in the learned tongues) by " running across " from Latin to 
English. At this point, therefore, he suddenly exclaims • — 

" Hail! native language, that by sinews weak 
Didst move my first endeavouring tongue to speak, 
And mad'st," &c. 

He continues this episodic address to his native speech through a goodly 
number of lines, but then remembers that it is a divergence from the business 
in hand, and that his sons are waiting to hear him speak in the character of 
Ens. Accordingly, he does speak in this character, calling up the eldest of 
his ten sons. Substance, and addressing him in fit terms. Whether Substance 
made any reply we are not informed; but the next two Predicaments, Qiiantity 
and Quality, did speak in their turn — not in verse, however, but in prose. 
It seems most natural to conclude that these speeches were made by the 
students of Christ's who represented the Predicaments in question — Milton 
himself only speaking in his paramount character as Ens. In this character, 
at all events, he finally calls " by name " on the student who represented the 
fourth category — i.e. Rclatio7i ; and with this speech of Ens to Relation, the 
fragment, as we now have it, abruptly ends. " The rest was prose," we are 
informed — i.e. whatever was said by Relation, and to or by the six remaining 
Predicaments, was said in prose and has not been preserved. INIr. W. G. 
Clark, of Cambridge, ascertained that among Milton's fellow-students at 
Christ's Avere two brothers named Rivers. This explains the words " Rivers, 
arise," and the sequel. 

On the Morning of Christ's Nativity. 

This magnificent ode, called by Hallam " perhaps the finest in the English 
language," was composed, as we learn from Milton's own heading of it in the 
edition of 1645, in the year 1629. Milton was then twenty-one years of age, 
in his sixth academic year at Cambridge, and a B.A. of a year's standing. 
There is an interesting allusion to the ode by Milton himself, when he was in 
the act of composing it, in the sixth of his Latin elegies. In that elegy, 
addressed to his friend Charles Diodati, residing in the country, in answer to 
a friendly epistle which Diodati had sent to him on the 13th of December, 
1629, there is a distinct description of the Ode on the Nativity, as then 
finished or nearly so, and ready to be shown to Diodati, together with the 
express information that it was begun on Christmas-day 1629. 

Upon the Circumcision. 

Having, in the Ode on the Nativity, celebrated the birth of Christ, Milton 
seems to have intended his little piece " Upon the Circumcision " as a sequel. 
This appears from the opening lines, in which distinct allusion is made to the 



ON SHAKESPEARE. 401 



Nativity. We may therefore, with great probability, suppose the piece to 
have been written on or about the Feast of the Circumcision following the 
Christmas of the previous ode — i.e. January i, 1629-30. 

The Passion. 

This piece, also, as the opening stanza implies, grew out of the Ode on the 
Nativity, and is a kind of sequel to it. It was probably written for Easter 
1 630. It is but the fragment of an intended larger poem, for which, after 
he had proceeded so far, he thought his powers unequal. 

On Time. 

In the draft of this little piece, in Milton's own hand, among the Cambridge 
MSS., the title is given more at length thus: On Time — To be set on a 
Clock-case. The piece is assigned, conjecturally, to the year 1630. 

At a Solemn Music. 

This piece is also assigned, conjecturally, to the year 1630. The title "At 
a Solemn Music " may be translated " At a Concert of Sacred Music." 
Milton, we know, had been a musician from his childhood, and had had 
'unusual opportunities of hearing the best music in England. See Introd. to 
the Latin Poem Ad Patrem among the Sylvce. 

Song on May Morning. 

This little piece is also assigned, but only conjecturally, to the year 1630. 
If this is correct, the exact date is May i, 1630. 

On Shakespeare. 

This famous little piece is sometimes spoken of as Milton's " Sonnet on 
Shakespeare "; but it is not even laxly a Sonnet, as it consists of sixteen lines. 
In its anonymous printed form among the commendatory verses prefixed to 
the Shakespeare Folio of 1632, it is entitled "An Epitaph on the Admirable 
Dramatick Poet, W. Shakespeare." That it was written two years before its 
publication in so distinguished a place appears from the date "1630" 
appended to its shorter title in the original editions of Milton's Poems. It 
seems to me not improbable that Milton originally wrote the lines in a copy 
of the First Folio Shakespeare in his possession, and furnished them thence 
to the publisher of the Second Folio. 

On the University Carrier. 

The two pieces on this subject are chiefly curious as specimens of Milton's 
muse in that facetious style in which, according to his own statement, he was 
hardly at home. They celebrate an incident which must have been of 
considerable interest to all Cambridge men of Milton's time — the death of 
old Thomas Hobson, the Cambridge University carrier. 

Born in 1544, or twenty years before Shakespeare, Hobson had for more 
than sixty years been one of the most noted characters in Cambridge. Every 
week during this long period he had gone and come between Cambridge and 



402 THE ENGLISH POEMS. 



the Bull Inn, Bishopsgate Street, London, driving his own wain and horses, 
and carrying letters and parcels, and sometimes stray passengers. All the 
Heads and Fellows of Colleges, all the students, and all the townspeople, 
knew him. By his business as a carrier, and also by letting out horses, he 
had become one of the wealthiest citizens in Cambridge — owner of houses 
in the town and of other property. He had also such a reputation for 
shrewdness and humour that, rightly or wrongly, all sorts of good sayings 
were fathered upon him. Till his eighty-sixth year he had persisted in 
driving his carrier's waggon himself. But, in April or May 1630, a stop had 
been put to his journeys. The Plague, after an interval of five years, was 
again in England; it was rife in Cambridge this time, so that the colleges had 
been prematurely closed and all University exercises brought to an end ; and 
one of the precautions taken was to interdict the continued passage of Hobson, 
with his letters and parcels, between Cambridge and London. Though many 
of his neighbours among the townspeople died of the Plague, the tough old 
carrier escaped that distemper. But the compulsory idleness of some months 
was too much for him. Some time in November or December 1630, just as 
the Colleges had re-assembled, and, the Plague having abated, he might have 
resumed his journeys, he sickened and took to his bed. On the 1st of 
January, 1630-31, he died, aged eighty-six. Before he died he had 
executed a will, in which he left a large family of sons, daughters, and 
grandchildren (one of his daughters being the wife of a Warwickshire baronet), 
well provided for. Nor had he forgotten the town in which he had made his 
fortunes. Besides other legacies for public purposes to the town of Cambridge, 
he left money for the perpetual maintenance of the town- conduit; and to 
this day the visitor to Cambridge sees a handsome conduit, called after 
Hobson's name, in the centre of the town, and runnels of clear water flowing, 
by Hobson's munificence, along the sides of the footways in the main streets. 
In some respects, Hobson is still the genius loci of Cambridge. 

Little wonder that the death of such a worthy as old Hobson made a stir 
among the Cambridge dons and undergraduates, and that many copies of 
verses were written on the occasion. Several such copies of verses have been 
recovered; but none so remarkable as Milton's. Milton seems to have had a 
fondness for the old man, whose horses he must have often hired, and by 
whom he must often have sent and received parcels. The title of Milton's 
two pieces is exact to the circumstances of the case : " On the University 
Carrier, who sickened in the time of his vacancy, bei ng forbid to go to London 
by reason of the Plagued The gist of the poems themselves, too — in which, 
through all their punning facetiousness, there is a vein of kindliness — is that 
Hobson died of ennui. Both pieces must have been written in or about 
January 1630-31. 

An Epitaph on the Marchioness of Winchester. 

The date of the composition of this poem is determined by that of the 
event to which it refers — the death, in child-birth, of Jane, wife of John 
Paulet, fifth Marquis of Winchester. This lady, who was but twenty-three 
years of age when she died, and was much spoken of for her beauty and 
mental accomplishments, was a daughter of Thomas, Viscount Savage, of 
Rock-Savage, Cheshire, by his wife, Elizabeth, the eldest daughter and co-heir 



LALLEGRO AND IL PENSEROSO. 403 



of Thomas Darcy, Earl of Rivers. Her husband, the Marquis of Winchester, 
who had succeeded to the title in 1628, was a Roman Catholic; he subse- 
quently attained great distinction by his loyalty during the civil wars; and he 
did not die till 1674, forty-three years after he had been made a widower by 
the death of this, his accomplished (first) wife. That event occurred on the 
15th of April, 1 63 1, in circumstances thus communicated in a contemporary 
news-letter, dated the 21st of the same month: — "The Lady Marquis of 
" Winchester, daughter to the Lord Viscount Savage, had an imposthune 
" upon her cheek lanced; the humour fell down into her throat, and quickly 
" despatched her, being big with child : whose death is lamented, as well in 
" respect of other her virtues as that she was inclining to become a Protestant." 
An unusual amount of public regret seems to have been caused by the lady's 
melancholy death. It was the subject of a long elegy by the poet-laureate, 
Ben Jonson, printed in his " Underwoods " ; and there were verses on the 
occasion by Davenant and other poets. How Milton, then in his twenty- 
third year, and still at Cambridge, came to be so interested in the event as to 
make it the subject of a poem, is not known. Warton had been told that 
there was a Cambridge collection of verses on the occasion, among which 
Milton's elegiac ode first appeared; and some expressions in the ode might 
imply that fact; but no such volume has been found. 

L' Allegro and II Penseroso. 

These were written as companion-pieces, and are to be read together. 
There is some doubt as to the time of their composition, there being no drafts 
of them among the Cambridge MSS. In the edition of 1645 they follow 
immediately after the pieces on Hobson, and precede the Arcades, with the 
intervention, however, of the ten Sonnets printed in that edition. With 
great probability they are assigned to the period immediately subsequent to 
Milton's student-life at Cambridge, i.e. to the time of his studious seclusion 
in his father's country house at Horton in Buckinghamshire, near Windsor. 
Milton retired thither in 1632, after taking his degree of M.A., and he mainly 
resided there till the beginning of 1638. If the pieces were written at 
Horton, they were probably written soon after his going there. That they 
were written in some peaceful country neighbourhood, amid the sights and 
sounds of quiet English landscape and English rural life, is rendered likely 
by their nature. But it is a mistaken notion of the poems, and a somewhat 
crude notion, to suppose that they must contain a transcript of the scenery of 
any one place, even the place where they were written. That place (and we 
incline to think it was Horton) may have shed its influence into the poems; 
but the purpose of the poet was not to describe actual scenery, but to 
represent two moods, and to do so by making each mood move, as it were, 
amid circumstances and adjuncts akin to it and nutritive of it. Hence the 
scenery is visionary scenery, made up of eclectic recollections from various 
spots blended into one ideal landscape. It is, indeed, the exquisite fitness 
with which circumstances are chosen or invented, in true poetic affinity with 
the two moods, that makes the poems so beautiful, and secures them, while 
the English language lasts, against the possibility of being forgotten. 

The poems, we have said, are companion-pieces, and must be read together. 
Each describes an ideal day — a day of twelve hours. But L Allegro is the 



404 THE ENGLISH POEMS. 



ideal day of the mind of an educated youth, like Milton himself, in a mood 
of light cheerfulness. And observe at what point that day begins. It begins 
at dawn. The first sound heard is the song of the lark; the first sights seen 
round the rustic cottage, or in the walk from it, are those of new-waked 
nature, and of labour fresh afield. Then the light broadens on to mid-day, 
and we have the reapers at their dinner, or the haymakers busy in the sun. 
And so, through the afternoon merry-makings, we are led to the evening 
sports and junkets and nut-brown ale round the cottage bench; after which, 
when the country folks, old and young, have retired to rest, the imaginary 
youth of the poem, still in his mood of cheerfulness, may protract his more 
educated day by fit reading indoors, varied by sweet Lydian music. Contrast 
with all this the day of // Penseroso. It is the same youth, but in a mood 
more serious, thoughtful, and melancholy. The season of the year, too, may 
be later. At all events, the ideal day now begins with the evening. It is. the 
song of the nightingale that is first heard; lured by which the youth walks 
forth in moonlight, seeing all objects in their silver aspect, and listening to 
the sounds of nightfall. Such evening or nocturnal sights and sounds it is 
that befit the mood of melancholy. And then, indoors again we follow the 
thoughtful youth, to see him, in his chamber, where the embers glow on the 
hearth, sitting meditatively, disturbed by no sound, save (for it may be a town 
that he is now in) the drowsy voice of the passing bellman. Later still, or 
after midnight, we may fancy him in some high watch-tower, communing, 
over his books, with old philosophers, or with poets, of grave and tragic 
themes. In such solemn and weirdly phantasies let the whole night pass, and 
let the morning come, not gay, but sombre and cloudy, the winds rocking the 
trees, and the rain-drops falling heavily from the eaves. At last, when the 
sun is up, the watcher, who has not slept, may sally forth; but it is to lose 
himself in some forest of monumental oaks or pines, where sleep may overtake 
him recumbent by some waterfall. And always, ere he rejoins the mixed 
society of men, let him pay his due visit of worship to the Gothic cathedral 
near, and have his mind raised to its highest by the music of the pealing 
organ. 

The studied antithesis of the two pieces has to be kept in mind in reading 
them. It needs only be added that the commentators have supposed that 
Milton may have been aided in his conception of the two poems by some 
passages in Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy^ by a song in Beaumont ' and 
Fletcher's drama of Nice Valor, and by recollections of other pieces of a 
pensive kind, in octosyllabic measure, including Marlowe's pretty poem, the 
Passionate Shepherd to his Love, and Sir Walter Raleigh's answer to the same, 
called The Nyinpli's Reply. The help from any such quarters, however, must 
have been very small, the mere suggestion of a cadence here and there. 

Arcades. 

^^ Part of an Entertainment presented to the Countess- Dowager of Derby at 
Harefield by some noble persons of her Family^'' are the words added by 
Milton himself to the title of the poem, to explain its nature. In other 
words, it is part, and only part, of a masque presented before a venerable lady 
at her country-seat by some members of her family who had chosen this way 
cf showing their affection and respect for her. The rest of the masque has 



ARCADES. 



405 



perished; only this fragment of it, supplied by Milton, remains. The date is 
a little uncertain. Historically, the Arcades is connected so closely with 
Comus that any Introduction to the one must serve also as partly an Intro- 
duction to the other; and the manner of the connexion is such that we must 
assume that the Arcades preceded Comus. Now, as the date of Comus is 
1634, the immediately preceding year, 1633, has been taken as the probable 
year for the Arcades ; but there are arguments which might push it as far 
back as 1631, or even 1630. It is chiefly necessary to bear in mind that the 
Arcades did precede Comus, and that the lady in whose honour it was com- 
posed w^as one of the same noble family for whom Comus was subsequently 
written. 

That lady was Alice, Countess-Dowager of Derby, who, in 1631, was about 
seventy years of age. The life of this lady had been one that would have 
made her venerable in the social and literary history of England even had 
there not been this association of her later years with the youth of Milton. 
Born, about the year 1560, one of the daughters of Sir John Spencer of 
Althorpe, Northamptonshire — from whom are descended the Earls Spencer and 
their branches — she had been married in early hfe to Ferdinando Stanley, 
Lord Strange, eldest son of the fourth Earl of Derby, One of her sisters, 
Elizabeth Spencer, was then, by marriage, Lady Carey, and another, Anne 
Spencer, was Lady Compton. The three sisters seem to have at that time 
been especially well known to the poet Spenser, who, indeed, claimed to be 
related to the Spencers of Althorpe. Spenser's earliest known publication, 
Mtdopotmos (1590), was dedicated to Lady Carey; \{\% Mother Hubbcrd's Tale 
(1591) was dedicated to Lady Compton; and to the youngest of the three 
sisters — the one with whom we are at present concerned — was dedicated in the 
same year (1591) his Tears of the Muses, In paying this honour to Alice, 
Lady Strange, Spenser had regard not only to her own accomplishments 
and his connexion with her family, but also to the reputation of her husband. 
Lord Strange. No nobleman of the day was of greater note in the world 
of letters than Lord Strange. He was himself a poet; among the dramatic 
companies of the time was one retained by him and known as " Lord Strange's 
Players; " and among his clients and panegyrists were Nash, Greene, and others 
of Shakespeare's seniors in the English drama. All this is recognised in Spenser's 
dedication of the Tears of the Muses to Lady Strange. " Most brave and noble 
" Lady," he says, " the things that make ye so much honoured of the world 
"as ye be are such as, without my simple lines' testimony, are throughly 
" known to all men : namely, your excellent beauty, your virtuous behaviour, 
" and your noble match with that most honourable Lord, the very pattern of 
" right nobility. But the causes for which ye have thus deserved of me to be 
" honoured (if honour it be at all) are both your particular bounties and also 
"some private bonds of affinity which it hath pleased your Ladyship to 
" acknowledge. . . . Vouchsafe, noble Lady, to accept this simple remem- ■ 
" brance, though not worthy of yourself, yet such as perhaps, by good 
" acceptance thereof, you may hereafter cull out a more meet and memorable 
" evidence of your own excellent deserts." Some time after this dedication — 
to wit, in September 1593 — the lady so addressed rose still higher in the 
peerage by the accession of her husband to the earldom of Derby on his father's 
death. Ferdinando, fifth Earl of Derby, however, enjoyed his new dignity 
but a few months. He died on the i6tb of April, 1594, in his thirty-sixth 



4o6 THE ENGLISH POEMS. 



year, much regretted. From that day his widow was known as Alice, 
Countess-Dowager of Derby. The earldom of Derby went to the next male 
heir; and the Countess-Dowager, with her three young daughters by her 
deceased husband — Lady Anne Stanley, Lady Frances Stanley, and Lady 
Elizabeth Stanley — lived on to form new alliances. Spenser, who had honoured 
her during her husband's life, continued to honour her in her widowhood. In 
his pastoral of Colin Cloufs come Home again (completed in 1595), the poet, 
having enumerated the chief " shepherds " or poets of the British isle, and having 
proceeded thence to a mention of some of the chief " shepherdesses " or 
" nymphs," introduces three of these ladies thus : 

" Ne less praiseworthie are the sisters three. 
The honour of the noble familie 
Of which I meanest boast myself to be. 
And most that unto them I am so nie, 
Phyllis, Charillis, and sweet Amaryllis. 
Phyllis the fair is eldest of the three; 
The next to her is beautiful Charillis; 
But the youngest is the highest in degree." 

These three ladies were the three married daughters of Sir John Spencer of 
Althorpe, honoured some years before by dedications of Spenser's earliest 
poems to them respectively; and Amaryllis, the youngest of them, and "the 
highest in degree," was the one to whom he had dedicated his Tears of the 
Muses — then Lady Strange, but now Countess-Dowager of Derby. Indeed, 
there are special allusions in Colin Cloufs cotiie Home again to the widowed 
condition of this lady : 

" But Amaryllis whether fortunate 
Or else unfortunate may I aread, 
That freed is from Cupid's yoke by fate, 
Since which she doth new bands' adventure dread? 
Shepherd, whatever thou hast heard to be 
In this or that praised diversely apart, 
In her thou mayst them all assembled see, 
And sealed up in the treasure of her heart." 

The lady, however, did marry again. In 1600, when Spenser was no longer 
alive to approve or to regret, she contracted a second marriage with Lord Keeper 
Egerton — then only Sir Thomas Egerton and Lord Keeper of the Great Seal to 
Queen Elizabeth, but afterwards (1603) Baron Ellesmere and Lord Chancellor 
to King James, and finally (1616) Viscount Brackley. This eminent lawyer 
and statesman had already been twice married, and -was a man of about sixty 
years of age, with grown-up children, when he made his splendid match with 
the Countess-Dowager of Derby. The Countess — who, of course, retained that 
title in her new condition as the Lord Keeper's wife — was brought once again 
conspicuously into society by her husband's connexion with public affairs. In 
1601 she and her husband jointly purchased the estate of Harefield in Middlesex 
— a charming property, with a fine mansion upon it, on a spot of well-wooded 
hill and meadow, on the river Colne, about four miles from Uxbridge. Here, 
or in London, the Lord Keeper and his wife mainly resided, doing the honours 
of their position, and receiving in return the recognitions due to persons of 
their rank. One very memorable incident in their life at Harefield was a visit 
of four days paid them there by Queen Ehzabeth (July 31 — August 3, 1602), 
when all sorts of pageants were held for her Majesty's recreation. The story 



ARCADES. 407 



that these included the first known performance of Shakespeare's Othello by 
" Burbidge's players" is now universally rejected; but a long "avenue of 
elms," leading to the house, was the scene of a kind of masque of welcome 
at the Queen's reception, and of another of leave-taking on her departure, and 
was ever afterwards known as "the Queen's Walk," Throughout the reign of 
James I. there M'ere similar recognitions of the high social rank of the Chan- 
cellor and his noble wife, besides not a few of a literary character, in the shape 
of poems, or dedications of poems, to them. It was not only their own marriage, 
however — a marriage that proved childless — that now connected the pair. Not 
long after that marriage had taken place, the ties of family between the two had 
been drawn closer by the marriage of the Lord Keeper's son — then Sir John 
Egerton — with Lady Frances Stanley, the Countess's second daughter by her 
former husband the Earl of Derby. Thus, while the Countess-Dowager was 
the wife of the father, one of her daughters was the wife of the son. Her 
other two daughters made marriages of even higher promise at the time. The 
eldest. Lady Anne Stanley, had married Grey Bridges, fifth Lord Chandos; 
and the youngest. Lady Elizabeth Stanley, had married, at a very early age 
(1603), Henry, Lord Hastings, who, in 1605, succeeded his grandfather as 
Earl of Huntingdon, and possessor of the fine estate of Ashby-de-la-Zouch in 
Leicestershire. 

On the 15th of March, 1616-17, the Lord Chancellor EUesmere, then just 
created Viscount Brackley, died, and the Countess-Dowager of Derby com-' 
menced her second widowhood. She was then probably over five-and-fifty 
years of age, and she survived for twenty years more. These twenty years 
she spent chiefly in retirement at Harefield, where she endowed almshouses 
for poor widows, and did other acts of charity, but was surrounded all the 
while, or occasionally visited, by those numerous descendants and other rela- 
tives who had grown up, or were growing up, to venerate her, and whose joys 
and sorrows constituted the chief interest of her declining years. By the year 
1630, when she was about seventy years of age, she had at least twenty 
of her own direct descendants alive, besides collateral relatives in the families 
of her sisters, Phyllis and Charillis. (i.) One group of the venerable lady's 
direct descendants consisted of her eldest daughter. Lady Chandcs, and that 
daughter's surviving children by her first husband Lord Chandos, the eldest 
of whom was George Bridges, now Lord Chandos, a boy of about twelve years 
of age. Both mother and children, we chance to know, lived at Harefield, 
with the grandmother, in 1631; and the estate of Harefield itself, we also 
learn, was to descend, after the Countess-Dowager's death, to Lady Chandos, 
otherwise left " destitute," and so to her son, young Lord Chandos. (2.) An 
additional group of relatives, also sharing the affections of the venerable Lady 
of Harefield, consisted of the children of her youngest daughter, the Countess 
of Huntingdon, viz. : Ferdinando, Lord Hastings, twenty-two years of age, 
and heir-apparent to the earldom of Huntingdon; his younger brother Henry, 
afterwards Lord Loughborough; a daughter, Alice, married to Sir Gervase 
Clifton; and another daughter, Elizabeth. These four grandchildren would 
sometimes be on visits to their grandmother at Harefield from their own homes 
in London, Ashby-de-la-Zouch, and elsewhere. (3.) There was still a third 
group of relatives around the venerable lady. At or near the time when she 
herself had married the Lord Keeper Egerton, as we have seen, her second 
daughter by her former husband, Lady Frances Stanley, had married the Lord 



4o8 THE ENGLISH POEMS. 



Keeper's son, Sir John Egerton. When his father was raised to the peerage as 
Baron EUesmere (1603), this Sir John Egerton had become" baron-expectant," 
— a designation which rose to the higher one of "Lord Egerton " when his 
father was made Viscomit Brackley (161 6). On his father's death, a few months 
afterwards (March 1616-17), he succeeded him as Viscount. But his dignities 
did not stop at that point. In May 161 7, an earldom which had been intended 
for the father, in recognition of his long services as Lord Chancellor, was 
bestowed on the son; and he became Earl of Bridgewatcr. Thus, the Countess- 
Dowager of Derby saw her second daughter, as well as her youngest, take rank 
as a Countess. A far larger family of children had been born to this daughter 
than to either of her sisters. Out of fifteen children, born in all, at least ten 
were alive in 1630, in order of age as follows: the Lady P^-ances Egerton, 
married to Sir John Hobart, of Blickling, Norfolk; the Lady Arabella, married 
to Lord St. John, of Bletso, son and heir of the Earl of Bolingbroke; -the 
Ladies Elizabeth, Mary, Penelope, Catharine, Magdalen, and Alice, yet un- 
married — the last. Lady Alice, being in her tenth or eleventh year; John, 
Viscount Brackley, the son and heir, in his ninth year; and his brother, Mr. 
Thomas Egerton, about a year younger. The head-quarters of this numerous 
family, or of such of them as were unmarried, M-ere — in London, the Earl 
of Bridgewater's town-house in the Barbican, Aldersgate Street; in the country, 
the Earl's mansion of Ashridge, Hertfordshire, about sixteen miles from 
Harefield. 

We are now prepared to understand the exact circumstances of the Arcades, 
Sometime in 1630 or 1 631, we are to suppose, some of the younger members 
of the different groups of the relatives of the Dowager-Countess of Derby 
determined to get up an entertainment in her honour, at her house at Harefield. 
The occasion may have been the aged lady's birthday, or it may have been 
some incidental gathering at Harefield for a family purpose. Whatever it 
was, the young people had resolved to amuse themselves by some kind of 
festivity in compliment to the venerable lady of whom they were all so 
proud. What could it be but a masque? Harefield, with its avenue of 
elms called " the Queen's Walk " in memory of Queen Elizabeth's visit, and 
with its fine park of grassy slopes and well-wooded knolls, was exactly the 
place for a masque; besides which, was not the Countess accustomed to, this 
kind of entertainment? Would it not be in good taste to remind her of the 
masques and similar poetical and musical entertainments that had pleased her 
in her youth, when she had been the theme of Spenser's muse, and had sat 
by the side of her first husband, Lord Strange, beholding plays brought out 
under his patronage? Masques, indeed, were even more in fashion now, in 
the reign of Charles I., than they had been in the reigns of Elizabeth and 
James, and a masque in a noble family on any occasion of family-rejoicing 
was the most natural thing in the world. 

There was, then, to be a masque, or at least a bit of a masque, at Harefield; 
and the actors were already provided. But for a good masque, or even a good 
bit of a masque, more is required than willing actors. Who was to write the 
words for the little masque, and who was to set the songs in it to music ? 

The latter question may be answered first. There can be little doubt, I think, 
that the person to whom the young people of the family of the Countess- 
Dowager of Derby trusted for all the musical requisites of the masque, if 



ARCADES. 409 



not the person who suggested it originally and entirely superintended it, was 
Henry Lawes, gentleman of the Chapel Royal, and one of his Majesty's 
private musicians. Farther particulars respecting this interesting man, one of 
the most celebrated musical composers of his day, will be given in the 
Introduction to that one of Milton's Sonnets whicla is addressed to him 
(Sonnet XIIL). What we have to attend to here is that, though Lawes had 
professional connexions with not a few aristocratic families, by far the most 
lasting and intimate of these was with the Bridgewater branch of the Countess- 
Dowager of Derby's family. As early as 1630-31, the proof tends to show, 
Lawes, then about thirty years of age, and already of distinction in the 
English musical world, though with much of his reputation still to make, 
reckoned among his chief patrons and employers the Earl and Countess of 
Bridgewater ; and among his most hopeful pupils at that time were several 
of the children of the Earl and Countess. (Dthers of the Countess of Derby's 
grandchildren may have been pupils of Lawes; but those of the Bridgewater 
branch were the most musical in their tastes, and it was to them, in their town- 
house in the Barbican, or in their country-seat at Ashridge, that Lawes's visits 
were most frequent. Quite possibly, therefore, it was they that originated 
the notion of a masque in honour of the Countess. But, even if some of her 
relatives of the other groups were concerned in the plan, or admitted into it, 
the singing parts would fall to the Bridgewaters, and the arrangement of the 
music, and the general management, to their instructor, Lawes. Business 
of this kind was part of the profession of musical composers in those days, 
and Lawes, as we shall find (Introd. to Coimis), was an expert in it. 

An additional argument in favour of the idea that Lawes was the manager 
of the entertainment and arranged its music is found in the fact that the 
poetry for it was furnished by Milton. For Milton's intimacy with Lawes is 
a known fact. The friendship between the two, of which many interest- 
ing proofs remain, may have begun even in Milton's boyhood. Noted as a 
musician as was Milton's own father, there can have been few musical artists 
in London that were not occasional visitors in his house in Bread Street; and 
there were many things in Lawes, when once he and the younger Milton were 
brought together, to rivet an attachment to him. On the other hand, Milton's 
poetical powers must have been well known to Lawes. Accordingly, when 
the notion of the Entertainment at Harefield had been started, and Lawes 
and his Bridgewater pupils, if our idea is correct, were busy over the project, 
it was to Milton that Lawes applied for the necessary words or libretto. If, as 
has been argued, the date was 1630 or 1 631, Milton may have been up in 
London on one of his vacation visits. Perhaps, however, his father was 
already in possession of his country-place at Horton, and in that case Milton 
may have been there, and so actually within about ten miles, cross-country, 
from Harefield. Wherever it was that the two met to consult, Lawes about 
thirty years of age and Milton eight years younger, we can see what hap- 
pened. Lawes explained to Milton the circumstances of the proposed Enter- 
tainment and the kind of thing that was wanted; and Milton, meditating the 
affair for a few days, produced Arcades or The Arcadians. 

Let the reader now go back in imagination to Harefield, on a spring or 
summer evening two hundred and forty years ago. Certain revels or pageants 
in the ground have perhaps preceded, and the time, we say, seems now to 
be evening. Harefield House is lit up; and in front of it, on a throne of 



410 THE ENGLISH POEMS. 

state arranged so as to glitter in the light, is seated the aged Countess, with 
the seniors of the assembled party around her as spectators. Suddenly 
torches are seen flickering among the trees in the park, and out from among 
those trees, towards where the Countess is sitting, there bursts a band of 
nymphs and shepherds. They are, in fact, '■'some noble persojis of her family 
zvho appear on the scene in pastoral habit, moving toward the seat of stated 
When they have approached near enough, they pause, as if overcome by the 
splendour of the vision before them; and then one voice breaks out from the 
rest in recognition of the Countess. This is the first Song : — 

" Look, Nymphs and Shepherds, look! 
What sudden blaze of majesty 
Is that," &c. 

This song ended, the nymphs and shepherds renew their approach to the 
object of their wonder;- but, " as they come forzvard, the Genius of the IVood 
[Lawes?] appears, and turning toward them speaks^ The speech of this 
Genius of the Wood is in eighty-three lines of blank verse. In it the Genius 
first addresses the shepherds, or male performers in the masque, and tells 
them he recognises them, through their disguise, as noble Arcadians; then he 
addresses the nymphs in a similar strain ; then, after introducing himself as 
the Genius of the Wood, describing his occupations in that capacity, and des- 
canting on his particular affection for music and his desire to do his best in 
that art in praise of her whom he had often admired in secret as the Queen 
of the place, and whom his auditory have come to gaze upon, he offers to 
lead them to her. Accordingly, lute or other instrument in hand, he advances, 
with this song, sung probably in solo : — 

" O'er the smooth enamelled green 
Where no print of step hath been. 
Follow me," &c. 

Following him, accordingly, the masquers do obeisance to the Lady, and range 
themselves round her ; whereupon there is a third and concluding song, sung 
probably by many voices, madrigal-wise, and ending with a repetition of the 
final words of the previous song : — 

" Such a rural queen 
All Arcadia hath not seen." 

The entertainment was probably not yet over : but whatever more of it there 
was, out-of-doors or indoors, was not of Milton's composition. 

The Countess-Dowager of Derby survived the Entertainment only a few 
years. She died at Harefield, January 26, 1636-7. Her estate of Harefield 
descended to Lady Chandos, then her only remaining daughter, and so came 
to her grandson Lord Chandos, and his heirs; but in 1675 ^^ was purchased 
back by Sir Richard Newdegate, Bart., of Arbury, Warwickshire, whose fam- 
ily had been the original possessors of the property, but had parted with it 
in 1585. ' Accordingly, Harefield is now in possession of the Newdegates. 
The place is worth visiting, not only as the scene of the Arcades^ but for other 
reasons. Harefield House indeed has disappeared. It was burnt down by 
accident in 1660. But the pedestrian on the road from Uxbridge to Rick- 
mansworth may still identify the site of the House by one or two mounds and 
hollows, and a large cedar of Lebanon, on the quiet slopes behind Harefield 
Church; and in the church itself he may see, besides other antiquities of 



COMUS, 411 



interest, the tomb of the heroine of the Arcades. It is a richly-sculptured 
and heraldically emblazoned marble monument, exhibiting the effigy of the 
Countess in a crimson robe and gilt coronet recumbent under a canopy of pale 
green and gold, and, on the side, effigies of her three daughters in relief and 
also painted. The Countess is represented as in her youth, beautiful, and with 
long fair hair. The three daughters have the same long fair hair and like 
features. 

COMUS : 

•M Masque, presented at Ludlow Castle, 1634, before the Earl of Bridgewater, 
Lord President of Wales.^^ 

The history of this, the most important of all the minor poems of Milton, is 
closely connected with that of the Arcades, and our introduction to the 
Arcades is partly also an introduction to the Co7nus. What of more specific 
introduction is necessary remains to be given here. 

One branch of the relatives of the venerable Countess-Dowager of Derby, 
the heroine of the Arcades, consisted, as we have seen, of the members of the 
noble family of Bridgewater: — to wit, John, 1st Earl of Bridgewater, the 
Countess's stepson, being the son of her second husband, Lord Chancellor 
Ellesmere; this nobleman's wife, the Countess's second daughter. Lady 
Frances Stanley, by her first husband, Ferdinando, 5th Earl of Derby; and 
the numerous children born to this pair, — two of them daughters already 
married and with houses of their own, but other daughters still unmarried, 
and residing, together with their two boy-brothers, Viscount Brackley and 
Mr. Thomas Egerton, sometimes at their father's town-house in the Barbican, 
and sometimes at his country-seat of Ashridge in Hertfordshire. It is with 
these members of the Bridgewater family that we have chiefiy to do in the 

CODIUS. 

The Earl of Bridgewater, now about fifty-four years of age (he had been 
born in 1579), had a place among the nobihty of the Court of Charles I. for 
which he was probably indebted to the fame and long services of his father, 
the Lord Chancellor. Already a Privy Councillor, &c., he had, on the 26th of 
June, 1 63 1, been nominated by Charles to the high office of the Viceroyalty of 
Wales, or, as it was more formally called, the Office of " Lord President of the 
Council in the Principality of Wales and the Marches of the same." This 
office — including military command and civil jurisdiction, not only over the 
Welsh principality itself, but also over the four contiguous English counties of 
Gloucester, Worcester, Hereford, and Shropshire — had been filled, in 
Elizabeth's reign, by Sir Henry Sidney, the father of Sir Philip Sidney, and 
after him by Henry, 2nd Earl of Pembroke; and men of scarcely inferior 
note had held it since. The official seat of the Lord President was the town 
and castle of Ludlow in Shropshire, about twenty miles south from Shrews- 
bury, and beautifully situated in one of those tracts of green hilly country 
which mark the transition from England proper into Wales. The town, 
which was formerly walled, is mainly on an eminence near the junction of two 
streams, the Teme and the Corve, whose united waters flow on to meet the 
Severn in Worcestershire. On the highest ground of the town, and con- 
spicuous to a great distance over the surrounding country, is Ludlow Church, 
a large building of the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. Near it, at a point 
where the ascending slope on which the town is built ends in a precipitous 



412 THE ENGLISH POEMS. 



rock overhanging a steep valley through which the river runs, is Ludlow 
Castle, now a romantic ruin, but once a garrisoned place of strength, 
separately walled in from the town, and approached by a gateway from a kind 
of esplanade at the top of the main street. It was this Castle, with its outer 
court, inner court, keep, barracks, drawbridge, &c., that was more immediately 
the residence of the Presidents of Wales. The older portions of the Castle 
dated from the Conquest, when they had been built by the Conqueror's 
kinsman, Roger de Montgomery ; and there was hardly a part of the edifice 
but had its interesting legends and associations — legends and associations 
connected with the old wars of race between the Welsh and the Norman- 
English, or with those subsequent Wars of the Roses in which the Welsh had 
taken so active a share. Thus there were shown in the Castle certain rooms 
called " the Princes' Apartments," where Edward, Prince of Wales, and his 
young brother, the sons of Edward IV., had lived from 1472 to 1483, when 
they left Ludlow on that fatal journey which ended in their murder in "the 
Tower. 

Although appointed Lord President of Wales in June 163 1, the Earl of 
Bridgewater does not seem to have assumed his functions actively, or to have 
gone near Ludlow, till some time afterwards. On the 12th of May, 1633, his 
powers in his office were defined afresh by a Royal Letter of Instructions, 
which was also to regulate the future proceedings, judicial and administrative, 
of the Council over which he presided. This Council was ostensibly to consist 
of upwards of eighty persons named in the Letter, among whom were many 
bishops and the chief state-officers of England, besides a number of knights 
and gentlemen of the Welsh border. 

In October 1633 the Earl sent his new Letter of Instructions to his Council 
at Ludlow, to be read and registered before his own arrival. At what time 
he followed in person we do not accurately know; but, when he did follow, 
the cereiBonial of his inauguration was unusually splendid. He was attended 
"by a large concourse of the neighbouring nobility and gentry" — i.e.^ we 
may suppose, by all of his Council then in those parts, and by other persons 
of local consequence. He had brought his Countess with him, and probably 
his whole family, from London or Ashridge — including, as we certainly 
know, his youngest daughter, the Lady Alice Egerton, a beautiful young girl, 
fourteen or fifteen years old, and her two younger brothers. Viscount Brackley 
and Mr. Thomas Egerton. The festivities and hospitalities proper to such an 
occasion as the Earl's inauguration would naturally protract themselves over a 
considerable time. They did protract themselves, at all events, to Michaelmas- 
night, the 29th of vSeptember, 1634, when all Ludlow was astir with an 
unusual thing in those parts — nothing less than a complete masque, or 
poetical and musical entertainment, performed in the great hall of Ludlow 
Castle, by members of the Earl's family, before the Earl and an audience of 
assembled guests. 

At this particular time, the English Court and aristocracy may be said to 
have been masque-mad. Nothing so magnificent, for example, in the shape 
of a pageant had ever been seen in England as that got up by the lawyers of 
the Four Inns of Court in February 1633-4, ''as an expression of their love 
and duty to their Majesties," i.e. to King Charles and Queen Henrietta Maria. 
Months were spent in the preparation. Shirley was engaged to write the 
poetry; Mr. Simon Ivy and Mr. Henry Lawes to compose the music; Inigo 



COMUS. 413 



Jones to construct the machinery : while some of the ablest and most eminent 
lawyers of the time, such as Selden, Attorney-General Noy, Bulstrode 
Whitelocke, and Mr. Hyde, acted zealously on the Committee of General 
Management. "When the day came — Feb. 3 — there was a gorgeous after- 
noon and evening procession of the masquers, with painted chariots, flaming 
torches, music, and wondrous grotesque accompaniments, from Holborn down 
Chancery Lane to Whitehall, the whole population of London having gathered 
along the route to see and to cheer; and, afterwards, in the Banqueting-house 
at Whitehall, the main masque itself, Shirley's Triiunph of Peace, was 
performed before their Majesties with every possible magnificence. The 
whole affair cost the Four Inns of Court 21,000/.; whereof 1,000/. were spent 
on the music — Lawes and his fellow-composer receiving 100/. apiece for their 
share. The actors in this masque were chiefly handsome lawyers of the Four 
Inns, whose names are now unknown. But, a fortnight later, in the same 
Banqueting-house at Whitehall, there was another masque, of scarcely inferior 
magnificence, given by their Majesties themselves, and in which the actors 
were the King, fourteen of the chief nobles, and ten young sons of noble- 
men. This was Carew's Cczluju Britannicum, performed on Shrove-Tuesday 
night, February 18, 1633-4. The music to this masque was by Henry Lawes; 
the machinery by Inigo Jones; and among the young noblemen who took 
juvenile parts in it were the Earl of Bridgewater's two sons. Viscount Brackley 
and Mr. Thomas Egerton, and their cousin Lord Chandos. 

With a recollection of the Arcades, and probably of many other such private 
theatrical dehghts, traditional in the Bridgewater family; with the two young 
boys fresh from the glory of their small parts in the recent royal masque of 
Ccshim Britannicum; above all, with Lawes, the musical tutor of the family, 
radiant from his musical success in that masque and in its more gorgeous 
predecessor, the masque of The Triiuiiph of Peace by the Four Inns of Court; 
— what more natural than that it should be resolved to seize the opportunity 
of the Earl's entry on his Welsh Presidency for a masque on a great scale that 
should astonish the Welsh and all the West of England ? The youngsters 
and Lawes probably devised the thing; and, the Earl having given his consent, 
all was arranged. The preparations must have been begun months before the 
masque actually came off — probably while the family were yet in London. 
Lawes, of course, was to take care of the music and was to be general man- 
ager; and the other actors and singers were to be the young people of the 
family. But who should write the poetry? Who but Lawes's friend, Mr. 
Milton, who had already in the Arcades given such satisfactory proofs of his 
fitness for the kind of composition that was wanted? In fact, whether to 
please himself or to oblige Lawes, or to obhge the Earl of Bridgewater and 
his family on account of some bond of acquaintance with the family now not 
recoverable, Milton did undertake to write the masque. The composition of 
it, we must suppose, occupied him at Horton for several weeks, or even a 
month or two, during the early part of 1634. 

On undertaking to write the masque, Milton would think of some appro- 
priate story, to be shaped into a dramatic pastoral of the required kind, for 
representation on a stage in the hall of a great Castle by young lords and 
ladies, and with songs interspersed, to be sung by some of these performers 
to airs by his friend Lawes. The nature and circumstances of the occasion 
would be vividly present to his imagination — the Earl entering on his office 



414 THE ENGLISH POEMS. 



as President of the ancient Principality; his retinue, with Welsh and West-of- 
England gentry among them; the town and castle of Ludlow, and their neigh- 
bourhood, as conceived by him from descriptions, or perhaps seen by him 
(who knows?) in some tour of his own into those parts; the proximity of the 
place to Welsh scenery, and the connexion of the occasion with ancient British 
memories and legends. He would, doubtless, co-operate with Lawes, and 
would give or receive hints. But how the actual story of Comus occurred to 
Milton — the story of the young lady parted from her two brothers at night in 
the depths of a wild wood, found there by Comus and his crew of evil revellers, 
and lured and detained by their enchantments, until the Brothers, instructed 
by a good Attendant Spirit in the shape of their father's faithful shepherd, 
Thyrsis, rush in and rescue her — how this story occurred to Milton we can 
but vaguely surmise. He may have derived the conception of such a plot 
from some of his readings, and may have seen its fitness for his purpose." A 
somewhat different theory is that he only dramatised a real incident. The 
popular tradition round about Ludlow still is that the Lady Alice Egerton and 
her two young brothers. Viscount Brackley and Mr, Thomas Egerton, were 
actually benighted in Haywood Forest, near Ludlow, as they were on their 
way to Ludlow from a visit to the house of their relatives, the Egertons, in 
Herefordshire, and that the Lady Alice was for some time lost by her brothers 
in the forest. Milton, the tradition adds, had heard of this incident, and con- 
structed his Comus upon it. To us, however, it appears more likely that the 
story of the loss of Lady Alice and her brothers in Haywood Poorest grew out 
of the Co7nus than that the Comus grew out of the story. The story was cur- 
rent more than a hundred years ago; but it consists with our knowledge of the 
way in which such legends arise to suppose that by that time the parting of 
the lady and her brothers in the masque had been translated, by prosaic 
gossip on the spot, into a literal incident in the lives of those for whom the 
masque was written. 

In whatever way suggested, the masque was written with most definite 
attention 'to the purpose for which it was required. The characters to be 
represented were as follows : — 

The Attendant Spirit; first appearing as such, but afterwards in the dress of the 
shepherd Thvrsis. 

Comus, luith his crew. 

The Lady. 

First Brother. 

Second Brother. 

Sabrina, t]ie Nymph of the Severn river, with attendant IVater-fiymphs. 

Here, if we omit the "crew of Comus" and Sabrina's "attendant water- 
nymphs" — parts of mere dumb show, which may have been assigned to 
supernumeraries — there were six speaking and singing parts to be filled up. 
How were these parts cast? As to four of the parts we have definite informa- 
tion from Lawes. The part of The Lady, which is the central part in the 
masque, was given to the Lady Alice Egerton; and the parts of the First 
Brother and the Second Brother fell to Lady Alice's two boy-brothers, 
Viscount Brackley and Mr. Thomas Egerton. The important part of The 
Attendant Spirit, afterwards Thyrsis, was taken by Lawes himself. This 
leaves but two parts unassigned — those of Comus and Sabrina. The part of 
Comus is important, and a good actor was needed for it; that of Sabrina is 



COM us. 415 



less important, and required chiefly a good singer. There was, we may assume, 
among the connexions of the Bridgewater family, some handsome gentlemen 
who did not object to act as the disreputable Riot-god, son of Bacchus and 
Circe, for the opportunity of luring away the sweet Lady Alice even for a little 
while ; and among Lady AHce's sisters there were more than one fit for the 
part of the River-nymph. 

Suppose Milton's MS. of the masque finished (the draft, in his own hand, 
now among the Cambridge MSS.) ; suppose that Lawes has copies for his 
own use and that of his pupils (one of those copies, perhaps that now in the 
Bridgewater Library, which Todd believed to be in Lawes's hand) ; suppose the 
rehearsals over ; and suppose the memorable Michaelmas-night, Sept. 29, 1634, 
arrived. The great Hall of Ludlow Castle is filled with guests. It is a noble 
apartment, sixty feet long and thirty wide, in which, according to tradition, the 
elder of the two Princes murdered in the Tower had been proclaimed King, 
with the title of Edward V., before commencing his fatal journey to London. 
It is the place of all great state-meetings of the Council of the Presidency. 
But on this evening it is converted into a theatre and briUiantly lighted. 
While the Earl and Countess and the rest%f the seated audience occupy the 
main portion of the hall, one end of it is fitted up as a stage, with curtains, 
&c. Here the performance begins. ^'' The first scene discovers a wild wood : 
The Attetidant Spirit descends or enters.''^ Such is the stage-direction; the 
meaning of which is that, the stage having been darkened to signify that it is 
night, and there being paintings or other contrivances in the back-ground to 
represent a wood, Lawes " descends or enters." In the printed copies, and 
also in the Cambridge MS. , he begins with a speech ; but in the Bridgewater 
MS. this speech is preceded by a song of twenty lines, the opening lines of 

which are — ,,^ , , 

From the heavens now I fly, 
And those happy climes that lie 
Where day never shuts his eye 
Up in the broad fields of the sky." 

There is no doubt that the Bridgewater MS., being the stage copy, here 
represents what did actually happen. Milton had intended the masque to 
begin with a speech; but Lawes, thinking it better for stage-purposes to 
begin with a song, had taken the liberty of transferring to this point a portion 
of that which now stands, and which Milton intended to stand, as the final 
song or epilogue of the Attendant Spirit at the end of the masque. In that 
final song or epilogue as we now have it, the Attendant Spirit, announcing 
his departure^ when the play is over, says — 

" To the ocean now I fly, 
And those happy climes that lie 
Where day never shuts his eye 
Up in the broad fields of the sky," — 

which lines, with a part of their sequel, Lawes, it will be seen, converted 
cleverly into a prologue, or song of arrival, by the change of " To the ocean " 
into " From the heavens.^'' He doubtless thought it more effective to 
"descend" on the stage, singing this prologue; after which, when on the 
stage, he made the speech announcing the purpose for which he had 
descended. In that speech, after introducing himself in his character as an 



4i6 THE ENGLISH POEMS. 



attendant Spirit of Good, sent down to Earth from Jove's realms on a special 
errand, he thus informs the audience at the outset as to the general drift of 
the play they are about to witness, and connects it gracefully with the actual 
circumstances of the Earl of Bridgewater's presence among them, and his 
entering on so high a British office as the Welsh Presidency — 

" Neptune, besides the sway 
Of every salt flood and each ebbing stream, 
Took in, by lot 'twixt high and nether Jove, 
Imperial rule of all the sea-girt isles 
That, like to rich and various gems, inlay 
The unadorned bosom of the deep ; 
Which he, to grace his tributary gods, 
By course commits to several government. 
And gives them leave to wear their sapphire crowns, 
» And wield their little tridents. But this Isle, 

The greatest and the best of all the main. 
He quarters to his blue-haired deities; 
And all this tract that fronts the falling sun 
A noble Peer of niickle trtist a7id power 
Has in his charge, with tempered awe to guide 
An old and haugfi-ty nation proud in arms : 
Where his fair offspring, nursed in princely lore. 
Are comiftgto attend their father's state 
A7id 7ie%v-entrusted sceptre. But their way 
Lies through the perplexed paths of this drear wood. 
The nodding horror of whose shady brows 
Threats the forlorn and wandering passenger; 
And here their tender age might suffer peril, 
But that, by quick command from sovran Jove, 
I was despatched for their defence and guard." 

Prepared by these words, and by the further explanation of the Attendant 
Spirit that the wood is haunted by the god Comus and his crew of revellers, 
who waylay travellers and tempt them with an enchanted liquor which 
changes the countenances of those who partake into the faces of beasts, the 
audience see the story developed in action before them. They see Comus 
and his crew appear in the wood with torches, making a riotous and unruly 
noise — Comus, with a charming-rod in one hand and a glass in the other; 
and his crew, a set of monsters, with bodies of men and women in glistering 
apparel, but headed like sundry sorts of wild beasts. They see the crew knit 
hands and dance, and the dance broken off, by the orders of Comus, at the 
sound of a light footstep approaching. They see the crew then disappear 
among the trees, leaving their master alone, who knows that the footstep is 
that of some benighted virgin, and who, after throwing his " dazzling spells " 
{query, some blaze of blue Hght?) in the direction in which she is coming, 
also steps aside to watch. Then they see " the Lady " enter — the sweet 
Lady Alice, received, of course, with rapturous applause. They hear her 
explain how she has lost her brothers since sunset, how it is now midnight, 
how the rude sounds of revelry have attracted her to the spot, and how the 
darkness and the silence would alarm her were it not for her trust in a higher 
Power, guarding virtuous minds. As she speaks there comes a gleam through 
the grove; and, thinking her brothers may be near, she will guide them to 
her by a song. Accordingly, she sings the song beginning " Szueet Echo" — 
the first song in the masque, according to Milton's arrangement of it, but the 
second in Lawes's stage-arrangement. It is not her brothers that the song 



COMUS. 417 



brings to her, but Comus, who has been hstening in admiration. Appearing 
before her in the guise of a shepherd, he tells her he has seen her brothers, 
and offers to lead her to them, or to lodge her in his humble cottage till they 
can be found in the morning. Scarcely has she accepted the offer and left 
the scene with Comus, when her two brothers — the boys. Viscount Brackley 
and Mr. Thomas Egerton, also greatly cheered, of course — appear. They 
discuss with great anxiety the situation of their sister, the elder comforting the 
younger, till their conversation is interrupted by a far-off holloa. Lest it 
should be a robber, they draw their swords. But it is their father's faithful 
shepherd, Thyrsis; or rather they think it is he — for, in reality, it is the good 
Attendant Spirit, who has been taking note of all that has befallen the Lady, 
and who, in meeting the brothers, has assumed the disguise of one well known 
to them. He explains the state of affairs, and greatly alarms the younger 
brother by his account of Comus and his crew. The elder, though more 
steady, is for rushing at once to the haunt of the magician and dragging him 
to death. But the Attendant Spirit, as Thyrsis, explaining that such violence 
will be vain against the craft of a Sorcerer, proposes rather that they should 
avail themselves of the power of a certain precious plant, called Ilamony, of 
which a portion had once been given him by a certain skilful shepherd-lad of 
his acquaintance. He had tested the virtue of this plant to ward off enchant- 
ments, for he had already approached Comus safely by means of it; and he 
now proposes that they should all three confront Comus with its aid. The 
Brothers agree, and they and the supposed Thyrsis go off. Then the scene 
changes before the eyes of the audience, representing " a stately palace, set 
out with all manner of deliciousness; soft music; tables spread with 
dainties; " the Lady in an enchanted chair, with Comus pressing her to 
drink out of a glass, while his rabble stand around. There is a matchless 
dialogue between the Lady and Comus — an argument of Purity or Abstinence 
against Sensuality, in which Purity overcomes and defies its enemy. The 
Sorcerer, awed, but still persevering, prays the Lady only to taste, when her 
Brothers rush in with drawn swords, wrest the glass from his hand, and dash 
it to pieces. Comus and his crew resist slightly, but are driven away and 
dispersed. Thyrsis then, coming in after the Brothers, finds that unfortunately 
they have not attended to his instruction to seize the enchanter's wand. The 
Lady is still marble-bound to her chair, from which the motion of the wand 
might have freed her. To effect this Thyrsis proposes a new device. It is to 
invoke Sabrina, the nymph of the adjacent and far-famed Severn river. Who 
so likely to succour distressed maidenhood as she, that daughter of Locrine 
the son of Brutus, who, as ancient British legends told, had flung herself, to 
preserve her honour, into the stream which had since borne her name? By 
way of invocation of Sabrina, Thyrsis (?>. Lawes) sings what is now the 
second song in the masque, but is the third in Lawes's arrangement — the 
exquisite song beginning '' Sabrina fair ^ Obeying the invocation, Sabrina 
rises, attended by water-nymphs, and sings the song " By the rtts/iy-f ringed 
bank" — \.\\& third song in Milton's arrangement, the fourth in Lawes's. She 
then performs the expected office of releasing the Lady by sprinkling drops of 
pure water upon her, and touching thrice her lips and tinger-tips. Sabrina 
descends, and the Lady rises from her seat. But, though she is now free 
from the spell of Comus in his enchanted wood, it remains to convey her and 
her brothers safely to their father's residence, where their arrival is \\ aited fur. 



41 8 THE ENGLISH POEMS. 



Accordingly, after an ode of thanks to Sabrina for her good service, with 
blessings on the stream that bears her name, the supposed Thyrsis continues : — 

" Come, Lady; while Heaven lends us grace, 
Let us fly this cursed place, 
Lest the Sorcerer us entice 
With some other new device. 
Not a waste or needless sound 
Till we come to holier ground. 
I shall be your faithful guide 
Through the gloomy covert wide; 
And not many furlongs thence 
Is your Father's residence, 
Where this night are met in state 
Many a friend to gratulate 
His wished presence, and beside 
All the swains that there abide 
With jigs and rural dance resort. 
We shall catch them at their sport; 
And our sudden coming there 
Will double all their mirth and cheer. 
Come, let us haste! the stars grow high. 
But Night sits monarch yet in the mid sky." 

Thyrsis, the I.ady, and the two Brothers, here leave the stage, and are supposed 
to be gradually wending their way, through the wood, while it is still night, or 
very early morning, towards Ludlow Castle. While the spectators are imagining 
this, the journey of some furlongs is actually achieved; for straightway " Z/^*? 
scene changes, presenting Ludloiv Tozvn and the Presidenfs Castle : then come 
in cotintry-dancers ; after them the Attendant Spirit, with the two Brothers and 
the Ladyy In this stage-direction it seems to be implied that the spectators 
now looked on some canvas at the back of the stage, representing Ludlow Town, 
and the exterior of the very Castle they were sitting in, all bright on a sunshiny 
morning, and that, as they looked, there came in first a bevy of rustic lads and 
lasses, or representatives of such, dancing and making merry, till their clodhop- 
ping rounds were interrupted by the appearance among them of the guardian 
Thyrsis and the three graceful young ones. This is confirmed by what Thyrsis 
says to the dancers in the song which stands fourth in the printed masque, but 
must have been the fifth in the actual performance ; — 

" Back, shepherds, back ! Enough your play 
Till next sunshine holiday." 

So dismissed, the clodhoppers vanish; and there remain on the stage, facing 
the Earl and Countess and the audience, only (we may drop the disguise now, 
as doubtless the audience did in their cheering) the musician Lawes, the Lady 
Alice, and her brothers Viscount Brackley and Master Thomas Egerton. Advanc- 
ing towards the Earl and Countess, Lawes presents to them his charge with 
this continuation of his last song : — 

" Noble Lord and Lady bright, 
I have brought ye new delight. 
Here behold so goodly grown 
Three fair branches of your own," &c. 

There seems still to have been a dance at this point, to show off the courtly 
grace of the young people after the thumping energy of the clodhoppers; for 
at the end of Lawes's song there comes this last stage-direction, " The dances 
ended, the Spirit epiloguizes.''^ That is to say, Lawes, relapsing into his character 



COMUS. 419 



of the Attendant Spirit who had descended from Heaven at the beginning of 
the piece, and had acted so beneficially through it in the guise of the shepherd 
Thyrsis, winds up the whole by a final speech or song as he slowly recedes or 
reascends. In our printed copies the Epilogue is a longish speech; but part 
of that speech, as we have seen, had been transferred, in the actual performance, 
to the beginning of the masque, as the Spirit's opening song. Therefore in the 
actual performance the closing lines of the Epilogue as we now have it served 
as the Spirit's song of reascent or departure, in two stanzas : — 

" Now my task is smoothly done: 
I can fly, or I can run, 
Quickly to the green Earth's end, 
Where the bowed welkin slow doth bend. 
And from thence can soar as soon 
To the corners of the moon. 

" Mortals that would follow me, 
Love Virtue ! She alone is free : 
She can teach ye how to climb 
Higher than the sphery chime; 
Or, if Virtue feeble were, 
Heaven itself would stoop to her." 

And so, " with these sounds left on the ear, and a final glow of angelic light 
" on the eye, the performance ends, and the audience rises and disperses through 
" the Castle. The Castle is now a crumbling ruin, along the ivy-clad walls 
" and through the dark passages of which the visitor clambers or gropes his 
" way, disturbing the crows and the martlets in their recesses : but one can 
"stand yet in the doorway through which the parting guests of that night 
"descended into the inner court; and one can see where the stage was, on 
" which the sister was lost by her brothers, and Comus revelled with his crew, 
" and the lady was fixed as marble by enchantment, and the swains danced in 
" welcome of the Earl, and the Spirit ascended gloriously to his native heaven. 
" More mystic still it is to leave the ruins, and, descending one of the winding 
'* streets of Ludlow that lead from the Castle to the valley of the Teme, to look 
"upwards to Castle and Town seen as one picture, and, marking more expressly 
" the three long pointed windows that gracefully slit the chief face of the wall 
" towards the north, to realize that it was from that ruin and from those windows 
"in the ruin that the verse of Connts was first shook into the air of England." 

So I wrote a good few years ago, when the impressions of a visit I had made 

to Ludlow were fresh and vivid; and, as I copy the words now, they bring 
back, as it were in a dream, the pleasant memory of one bygone day. I re- 
member my first sight of the hilly town as I walked into it early on a summer's 
morning, when not a soul was astir, and the clean streets were all silent 
and shuttered; then my ramble at my own will for an hour or so over the 
Castle ruins and the green knoll they crown, undisturbed by guide or any figure 
of fellow-tourist; then my descent again, past and round the great church and 
its tombs, into the steep town streets, now beginning their bustle for a market- 
day; and, finally, the lazy circuit I made round the green outskirts of the 
town, through I know not what glens and up their sloping sides, the ruined 
Castle always finely distinct close at hand, and in the distance, wherever the 
eye could range unopposed, a fairy horizon of dim blue mountains. 

There is no evidence that Milton himself had taken the journey of 150 miles 
from London or Horton in order to be present at the performance. It is pos- 



420 THE ENGLISH POEMS. 

sible that he had done so; but it is just as possible that he had not, and even 
that the authorship of the masque was kept a secret at the time of its perform- 
ance, known only to Lawes, or to Lawes and the Earl's family. But the Earl 
of Bridgewater's masque began to be talked of beyond Ludlow; as time passed, 
and the rumour of it spread, and perhaps the songs in it were carried vocally 
into London society by Lawes and his pupils of the Bridgewater family, it was 
still more talked of; and there came to be inquiries respecting its authorship, 
and requests for copies of it, and especially of the songs. All this we learn 
from Lawes. His loyalty to his friend Milton in the whole affair was admirable; 
and he appears to have been more proud, in his own heart, of his concern with 
the comparatively quiet Bridgewater masque than with his more blazoned and 
well-paid co-operation in the London masques of the same year. There were 
many friends of his, it appears, who were not satisfied with copies of the songs 
and their music only, but wanted complete copies of the masque. To relieve 
himself from the trouble so occasioned, Lawes resolved at length to print the 
masque. He did so in 1637 in a small, and now very rare, quarto of 40 pages, 
with this title-page : — 

" A Maske presented at Ludlow Castle, 1634, on Michaelmasse Night, before the Right 
Honourable John, Earle of Bridgewater, Viscount Brackley, Lord President of Wales, and 
one of his Majesties' most honourable Privy Counsell. 

* Eheu quid volui misero vtihi ! floribus Austrum 
Perditus — ' 
London: Printed for Humphrey Robinson, at the signe of the Three Pidgeons in Paul's 
Churchyard, 1637." 

The volume was dedicated by Lawes to the Earl's son and heir, young Viscount 
Brackley, who had acted the part of Elder Brother in the masque. The 
Dedication complete will be found prefixed to Coi/ius in the present edition. 
We learn from it that the proposal of publication was Lawes's own, and that 
Milton still preferred the shelter of the anonymous. That Lawes had Milton's 
consent, however, is proved by the motto on the title-page. It is from Virgil's 
Second Eclogue, and must certainly have been supplied by Milton. " Alas ! 
" what have I chosen for my wretched self; thus on my flowers, infatuated that 
" I am, letting in the rude wind ! " So says the shepherd in Virgil's Eclogue; 
and Milton, in borrowing the words, hints his fear that he may have done ill 
in letting his Coi/nis be published. Though he was now twenty-eight years of 
age, it was actually, with hardly an exception, his first public venture in print. 
He had no reason to regret the venture. " Covius,^'' says Hallam, " was 
"sufficient to convince any one of taste and feeling that a great poet had 
"arisen in England, and one partly formed in a different school from his 
"contemporaries." Such a strong judgment is easily formed now; but there 
may have been some in England capable of forming it when it was a merit to 
form it, i.e. in 1637 (the year of Ben Jonson's death), when modest copies of 
Lawes's edition, without the author's name, were first in circulation. We know 
of one Englishman, at all events, who did form it and express it. This was 
Milton's near neighbour at Horton, Sir Henry Wotton, Provost of Eton College. 
Born in 1568, mixed up with political affairs in Elizabeth's reign, and in the 
height of his active career through that of James — when he had been English 
Ambassador to various foreign Courts, but had resided, in that capacity, most 
continuously at Venice — Sir Henry, since Charles came to the throne, had been 
in veteran retirement in the quiet post of the Eton provostship, respected by all 



COMUS. 421 



England for his past diplomatic services, but living chiefly on his memories 
of those services, his Italian experiences in particular, and in the delights of 
pictures, books, and scholarly society. Some chance introduction had brought 
Milton and the aged Knight together for the first time early in 1638, when 
Milton was preparing for his journey to Italy; and on the 6th of April in that 
year Milton, by way of parting acknowledgment of Sir Henry's courtesy, sent 
him a letter with a copy of Lawes's edition of his Comiis. Sir Henry, it appears, 
had read the poem in a previous copy, without knowing who was the author; 
and, writing in reply to Milton on the 13th of April, just in time to overtake 
him before he left England, he mentioned this fact, and expressed his pleasure 
at finding that a poem that he had liked so singularly was by his neighbour 
and new acquaintance. " A dainty piece of entertainment," he calls it, 
"wherein I should much commend the tragical part \^i.e. the dialogue] if the 
" lyrical did not ravish me with a certain Doric delicacy in your songs and 
"odes; whereunto I must plainly confess to have seen yet nothing parallel in 
"our language." Here was praise worth having, and which did, as we know, 
gratify Milton. He was actually on the move towards Italy when he read Sir 
Henry Wotton's letter. 

When, in 1645, six years after his return from Italy, Milton, then in the very 
midst of his pamphleteering activity, and of the ill-will which it had brought 
him, consented to the publication by Moseley of the first collective edition of 
his Poems, Cotnus was still, in respect of length and merit, his chief poetical 
achievement. Accordingly, he not only reprinted it in that edition, but gave 
it the place of honour there. It came last of the English Poems, with a 
separate title-page, thus : — '^ A Mask of the same Author , presented at Ludlow 
Castle, 1634, before the Earl of Bridgewater, then President of Wales: Anno 
Dotn. 1645." The title-page of Lawes's edition of 1637 was, of course, 
cancelled by this new one; but Lawes's Dedication of that edition to young 
Viscount Brackley was retained, and there was inserted also, by way of 
pendant to that Dedication, Sir Henry Wotton's courteous letter of April 13, 
1638. The courteous old Sir Henry was then dead; but Milton rightly con- 
sidered that his word from the grave might be important in the circumstances. 
And so this Second Edition of the Comiis, thus distinguished and set off as 
part of the First collective Edition of the Poems, served all the demand till 
1673, when the Second collective Edition of the Poems appeared. Comiis 
was, of course, retained in that edition, as still the largest and chief of Mil- 
ton's minor Poems; but it was made less mechanically conspicuous than in the 
earlier edition. It did not come last among the English Poems, being followed 
by the translations of some Psalms; and it had no separate title-page, but 
only the heading, " /4 Mask presented at Ludlow Castle, 1634," &c. Lawes's 
Dedication of the edition of 1637 ^^"^ Sir Henry Wotton's letter were likewise 
omitted. 

In none of the three first printed editions, it will be observed (Lawes's of 
1637, Milton's of 1645, ^'^^ Milton's of 1673), is the poem entitled CoMUS. 
Nor is there any such title in Milton's original draft among the Cambridge 
MSS., nor in that Bridgewater transcript which is supposed to have been the 
stage-copy. " A Mask presented,^'' &c. : such, with slight variations in the 
phrasing, was the somewhat vague name of the piece while Milton lived. It 
was really inconvenient, however, that such a poem should be without a briefer 



422 THE ENGLISH POEMS. 



and more specific name. Accordingly, that of CoMUS, from one of the chief 
persons of the drama, has been unanimously and very properly adopted. 

Although the word conius, or KQifios, signifying "revel" or "carousal," or 
sometimes " a band of revellers," is an old Greek common noun, with various 
cognate terms (such as /cw/idf^w, "to revel," and /cwyaySm, comedy), the per- 
sonification or proper name CoMUS appears to have been an invention of the 
later classic mythology. In the Et/coVes, or " Descriptions of Pictures," by 
Philostratus, a Greek author of the third century of our era. Com us is repre- 
sented as a winged god, seen in one picture " drunk and languid after a repast, 
his head sunk on his breast, slumbering in a standing attitude, and his legs 
crossed" (Smith's Diet, of Greek and Roman Biog. and Myth.). But, in 
fact, poets were left at liberty to fancy Comus, or the god Revel, very much as 
their own notions of what constitutes mirth or revel directed them; and the 
use of this liberty might perhaps be traced in the tradition of Comus, and the 
allusions to him in the poetry of different modern nations, down to Milton's 
time. 

Comus is an occasional personage among the English Elizabethan poets; 
and he figures especially in Ben Jonson's masque of " Pleasure Reconciled to 
Virtue^ presented at Court before King James, 1619." There he appears 
riding in triumph, as " the god of Good Cheer or the Belly, his head covered 
"with roses and other flowers, his hair curled;" and his attendants, crowned 
with ivy, and bearing a large bowl before him, salute him thus : — 

" Hail, hail, plump paunch ! O the founder of taste 
For fresh meats, or powdered, or pickle, or paste; 
Devourer of broiled, baked, roasted, or sod; 
An emptier of cups, be they even or odd; 
All which have now made thee so wide in the waist 
As scarce with no pudding thou art to be laced; 
But, eating and drinking until thou dost nod. 
Thou break'st all thy girdles, and break'st forth a god." 

Clearly Milton did not take his idea of the character of Comus from Ben 
Jonson's masque. A work to which it is more likely that he was in some 
small degree indebted is a Latin extravaganza, called Comus, sive Phagesiposia 
Ciinmer-ia : Somnium, by the Dutchman Erycius Puteanus. This writer, whose 
real name was Hendrik van der Putten, was born at Venlo in Holland in 1574, 
and, after having been for some time in Italy, became Professor of Eloquence 
and Classical Literature at Louvain, where he died in 1646. He was " the 
author of an infinity of books," says Bayle (Diet. : Art. Puteanus) ; among 
which was the one whose title we have given. It was first published in 1608; 
but there were subsequent editions, including one brought out at Oxford in 
1634, the very year of Milton's masque. The subject of the piece of Erycius 
Puteanus, which is written mostly in prose, with a mixture of verse, is the 
description of a dream in which the author visits the palace of Comus, the 
genius of Love and Cheerfulness, beholds him and his disguised guests at a 
banquet and subsequent torch-lit orgies, and listens to various dialogues on 
the voluptuous theory of life. In this dream Comus is a decidedly more grace- 
ful being than the lumbering god of good cheer in Ben Jonson's masque. He 
also, Hke Ben Jonson's Comus, is represented with curled and rose-crowned 
hair, but he is " soft-gestured and youthful," and personates a more subtle 
notion of Revel. 

After all, however, Milton's Comus is a creation of his own, for which he 



LYCIDAS. 423 



was as little indebted intrinsically to Puteanus as to Ben Jonson. For the 
purpose of his masque at Ludlow Castle he was bold enough to add a bran- 
new god, no less, to the classic Pantheon, and to import him into Britain, and 
particularly into Shropshire. Observe his parentage, Comus, the god of 
Sensual Pleasure, is not, with Milton, mere Gluttony, as he is in Jonson's 
masque; nor is he the mere modification of Feast and the Wine-god pictured 
by Philostratus and adopted by Puteanus. He is a son of the Wine-god 
certainly, but it is by the sorceress Circe; and, though he has much of his 
father's nature, he has more of the thrilling mercilessness and magical subtlety 
of his mother's. It is not for nothing that Milton, in his account of him, 
almost cites the description of Circe and her enchanted Island in the 10th 
Book of the Odyssey. There will be found throughout the masque more of 
real borrowing from Homer's picture of the experience of Ulysses and his 
companions on Circe's Island than from the extravaganza of Puteanus. Thus, 
to give but one instance, the magical root Ha^nony, by whose powers, ex- 
plained to the two Brothers by the Attendant Spirit (lines 617-656), they are 
enabled to defy the spells of Comus and attempt the rescue of their sister, 
is an avowed adaptation of the divine herb Moly given by Hermes to Ulysses 
(Odyss. X. 286 et seq^ to enable him to \\ithstand those drugs of Circe that 
had wrought such woe on his companions. Con mentators, however, have 
found traces in the masque of Milton's acquaintance also with George Peele's 
comedy of The Old Wives' Tale (1595) and Fletcher's pastoral of Ihe Faith- 
ful Shepherdess, originally produced before 1625, and revived as a Court play 
and acted in the London theatres in 1633-4. In neither of these pieces is 
Comus a character; but in the first there is a story of two brothers wandering 
in search of their lost sister and releasing her from the spell of an Enchanter, 
and in both there are passages in which one may descry or fancy some slight 
resemblance to some in Comus. 

Lycidas. 

On the 9th of June, 1626, when Milton had been for about sixteen months a 
student at Christ's College, Cambridge, there were admitted into that college, 
as appears from its records, two brothers, named King, sons of Sir John King, 
Knight, then living in Dublin, as Privy 'Councillor for Ireland and Secretary 
to the Irish Government. The family was English; but various members of 
it, in addition to Sir John, held offices in Ireland. Edward King, for example, 
Sir John's brother, was bishop of the Irish see of Elphin. Both the young 
men had been born in Ireland — the elder, named Roger, near Dublin; and 
the younger, named Edward after his uncle, at Boyle in Connaught. At the 
date of their admission into Christ's College, Roger was sixteen years of age, 
and Edward fourteen. They had previously been pupils of Mr. Thomas 
Farnaby, one of the most noted schoolmasters of the time, whose school 
then was in Goldsmith's Rents, Cripplegate, London. The tutor under whose 
care they were put at Christ's College M-as Mr. William Chappell, who was 
also Milton's first tutor there, and who became afterwards Provost of Trinity 
College, Dublin, and Dean of Cashel, and finally a bishop in the Irish Church. 

Edward King, the younger of the two brothers, seems to have been one 
of the most popular young men in Christ's College during Milton's residence 
there. He and Milton must have seen much of each other. They must have 



424 THE ENGLISH POEMS. 



had frequent meetings in hall, at lecture, and in each other's rooms, and fre- 
quent walks about Cambridge together. Milton, as we know, was indubitably 
the chief ornament of the little community, its ablest and noblest youth, 
supreme in everything; and, before he left college as M.A. in July 1632, aged 
twenty-three, this had come to be recognised. But, among those who had 
been his fellow-students in college, and whom he left behind him there, there 
were several of whom high things were expected. John Cleveland, afterwards 
known as a metrical Satirist, was one; and the future celebrated ** Platonist," 
Henry More, who had joined the college just as Milton was about to leave it, 
was another. Probably, however, no one was more liked in the college, both 
by dons and by students, than Edward King. Indeed, before Milton left the 
college, King, by what looks now like a promotion over Milton's head, had 
become himself one of the dons. On June lo, 1630, a Fellowship in Christ's 
College being then about to fall vacant, a royal mandate was addressed to 
the Master and Fellows of the college in behalf of Edward King, B.A., 
willing and requiring them, when the Fellowship should be vacant, to " admit 
" the said Edward King into the same, notwithstanding any statute, ordinance, 
" or constitution to the contrary." Had such college honours then gone by 
merit, Milton, then a B.A. of two years' standing, would have had a far supe- 
rior claim. As it was, however. King, though his junior by three years, and 
only just out of his undergraduateship, received the Fellowship, and thus took 
nominal precedence of Milton during Milton's last two years at Christ's. The 
royal mandate in King's favour was clearly owing to his family connexions and 
influence; but to so popular a young scholar the preferment does not appear 
to have been grudged. Not only was he a favourite on account of his amiable 
character; he really was, as the royal mandate represented him, a youth of 
" hopeful parts." This we learn, however, rather from tradition than from 
any specimens of his ability that have come down to us. The earliest of such 
specimens that I have found are in a volume put forth by the Cambridge 
University press late in 163 1 under the title of Genethliacutn illush-issimorum 
principum, Caroli e( Marits, a Afusis Cantahrigiensilms celebratum. It con- 
sists of complimentary Latin pieces by some scores of Cambridge men, of 
different colleges, on the recent birth of the Princess Mary, the third child of 
Charles I., but with retrospective reference to the birth in the previous year 
(May 29, 1630) of the Prince of Wales, afterwards Charles II. Among the 
contributors is Edward King, Fellow of Christ's College. He contributes four 
short Latin pieces — one in hexameters, one in Horatian verse, and two in 
elegiacs. They are not very poetical or elegant, and indeed are rather prosaic. 
But in such customary verses of compliment to Royalty one had not much 
scope; and King had probably written better things, in Latin and in Enghsh, 
known to his fellow-collegians in Christ's, and to Milton among them. When 
Milton left the college, there seems to have been no one in it for whom he 
had a higher regard, morally at least, than Edward King. 

Five years had elapsed since then, during which Milton, living chiefly at 
his father's country place, at Horton in Buckinghamshire, some sixty miles 
from Cambridge, can have seen King but occasionally. He would still hear, 
however, of King's progress and continued popularity in his Fellowship. In 
July 1633, we find. King took his full degree of M.A.; and there are subse- 
quent traces of him in the records of the college, while he was qualifying him- 
self for the Church — the profession for which Milton also had been originally 



LYCIDAS. 425 



destined, but which he had abandoned. He was Tutor in the college, as well 
as Fellow; and in 1634-5 he was " praelector," and the admissions into the 
college for that year are still to be seen in his handwriting in the college-books. 
At least six more specimens of his Latin versification have been discovered, 
belonging to this period. There is a copy of Latin Iambics by him in a vol- 
ume of Cambridge University verses on the King's recovery from small-pox 
(1633); he furnished another copy of Latin Iambics to a similar collection of 
academic congratulations on the King's return from his coronation-visit to 
Scotland (July 1633); there are some commendatory Latin Iambics of King's 
prefixed to Senile Oditwi, a Latin play by Peter Hausted, M.A. of Queen's 
College, acted at Cambridge in 1 631, but not published till 1633; he has a set 
of Latin elegiacs in a Cambridge collection of verses on the birth of the Duke 
of York (Oct. 1633); he has some Horatian stanzas in a similar volume on 
the birth of the Princess Elizabeth (December 1635); ^""-^ ^^^ latest thing of 
his I have seen is a copy of Latin Iambics in a collection of pieces, by no 
fewer than 140 Cambridge scholars, put forth on the birth of the Princess 
Anne (March 1636-7). Milton's hand does not appear in any of these collec- 
tions, verses eulogistic of Royalty not being in his way; but he may have seen 
some of the collections and read King's contributions to them. He cannot, 
I am pretty sure, have thought much of them, any more than of their pred- 
ecessors in the volume of 1631. But, as I have said, he liked King personally, 
and probably knew him to be capable of better things. 

Suddenly, however, this youth of golden opinions from all sorts of people, 
this young hope of Christ's College, was cut off. It was the Long Vacation 
of 1637, and he had arranged to visit his friends in Ireland. Proceeding by 
way of the English midland and western counties, and perhaps seeing friends 
in those parts, he took a passage on board a vessel sailing from Chester Bay 
for Dublin. The vessel had gone but a little way, was still on the Welsh 
coast, and not out into the open channel, when, on the loth of August, in 
perfectly calm weather, she struck on a rock, not far from land, and foundered. 
Some seem to have escaped in a boat; but most went down with the ship, 
and among them Edward King. His body was never recovered. 

The news caused a profound sensation among all King's friends. As it was 
the time of the University vacation, when his college-fellows were scattered, it 
must have reached them separately, and some of them circuitously. Milton, 
we are to fancy, heard it at Horton, late in August 1637, or in the course of 
the following month. It had already been a sad year in the Horton house- 
hold. The Plague, which had broken out in 1636, and whose ravages in 
various parts of England, and especially in London, were very alarming in 
1637, ^^d caused an unusual number of deaths in the neighbourhood of 
Horton. In the same unhealthy season, though not by the Plague itself, 
Milton's mother had died. She was buried, on the 6th of April, in Horton 
parish church, where the inscription ^^ Hcare lyeth the Body of Sara Milton y 
the %vife of John Milton, who died the yd of April, 1 637," may be read to 
this day on a plain blue stone on the floor of the chancel. Milton was still 
walking about Horton with this loss in his mind, and the blue stone, with its 
inscription, may have just been put down over the grave, when there came 
the news of the shipwreck in the Irish Seas and of the drowning of Edward 
King with the rest. 

When the Cambridge colleges reassembled in Oct. 1637 after the Long 



426 THE ENGLISH POEMS. 



Vacation, the melancholy death of poor King of Christ's was one of the first 
subjects of talk. It was proposed by somebody, or it suggested itself to more 
than one at once, that a volume of Memorial Verses should be prepared in his 
honour and published from the University press. Among the contributors to 
this volume were to be, of course, some of King's more immediate associates 
of Christ's College, from whom he had parted so lately on his fatal journey; 
but friends of his in other colleges, and relatives and former acquaintances 
out of Cambridge, might be expected to co-operate. Either Milton was 
thought of and applied to, or he had heard of the project and volunteered his 
assistance. In November 1637, as appears from a dating at the head of the 
original draft of Lycidas in Milton's own hand among the Milton MSS. at 
Cambridge, he wrote that poem, entitling it simply " LycidaS." This was to 
be his contribution to the intended memorial volume. 

The volume, probably because other contributors were not so ready as 
Milton, did not appear till some time in 1638. It consisted of two collections 
of pieces, printed by the University printers, Thomas Buck and Roger Daniel, 
and separately paged, so that they might be bound either separately or 
together. The one was a collection of twenty-three Latin and Greek pieces 
occupying 35 pages of small quarto, and entitled *' Justa Edovardo King 
naufrago ah amicis vicerentibus, ainoris et iivda'i %dptj' " ("Rites to Edward 
King, drowned by shipwreck, in love and remembrance by his sorrowing 
friends ") ; the other consisted of thirteen pieces of English verse, occupying 
25 pages of the same size, and with this title, bordered with black, on the 
front page, " Obsequies to the memorie of Mr. Edward King, Anno Dom. 
1638." The last piece in the English collection, and much the longest — for 
it spreads over six pages (pp. 20-25), while only one of the others extends 
over more than two — is Milton's Lycidas. It is signed merely "J. M.," and 
has no title, or other formal separation from the pieces that precede it. All 
the more striking must it have been for a reader who had toiled through the 
trash of the preceding twelve pieces (I have read them one and all, and will 
vouch that they are trash) to come at length upon this opening of a true 
poem : — 

" Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more. 

Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, 

I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude. 

And with forced fingers rude 

Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year: 

Bitter constraint and sad occasion dear 

Compels me to disturb your season due, 

For Lycidas is dead." 

This poem of Milton's, published half-anonymously in 1638 in the 
Cambridge volume of Memorial Verses to Edward King, was in circulation 
just as Milton was going abroad on his Italian journey. It, and his Gonitis, 
printed for him quite anonymously in the previous year by his friend Henry 
Lawes the musician, were all but the only poems of Milton in print till 1645, 
when the first edition of his collected Poems was given to the world by 
Moseley. In that edition, and in the subsequent edition of 1673, Lycidas is 
printed with its present complete title, thus: " Lycidas. hi this Monody the 
Author bewails a learned Friend, unfortunately drozvn''d in his passage from 
Chester on the Irish Seas, 1637. And by occasion foretells the ruine of our 
corrupted Clergie then in their height.^'' A portion of this extended title (from 



LYCIDAS. 427 



"In this Monody" to the date " 1637") appears in the original MS. draft of 
the poem at Cambridge, inserted, clearly by way of afterthought, in Milton's 
own hand under the heading Lycidas; the words "Novemb. 1637," which 
had originally accompanied that heading, being then erased as superfluous. 

The poem is a Pastoral. It is the most pastoral in form of all Milton's 
English poems, more so considerably than the Arcades and Comus. It is not 
a direct lyric of lamentation by Milton for the death of King; it is a phantasy 
of one shepherd mourning, in the time of autumn, the death of a fellow- 
shepherd. The mourning shepherd, however, is Milton himself, and the 
shepherd mourned for is King; and, througfl the guise of all the pastoral 
circumstance and imagery of the poem, there is a studious representation of 
the real facts of King's brief hfe and his accidental death, and of Milton's 
regard for him and academic intimacy with him. 

" Together both, ere the high lawns appeared 
Under the opening eye-lids of the morn, 
We drove a-field, and both together heard 
What time the gray-fly winds her sultry horn, 
Battening our flocks." 

Here is the recollection, pastorally expressed, of their companionship at 
Cambridge, their walks and talks together there, and their common exercises. 
In the same manner it has already been hinted to us that among those 
common exercises was poetry. One reason why Lycidas was now lamented 
in song was that he himself had known how " to sing and build the lofty 
rhyme." All the more inexplicable was his loss. Where had the Nymphs 
been when this loved votary of theirs was drowned? Not, certainly, anywhere 
near th« scene of the disaster. Not on the steeps known to the old Bards 
and Druids (the mountains of North Wales), nor on the shaggy top of Mona 
(the Isle of Anglesey), nor by the wizard stream of the Deva (the river Dee 
and Chester Bay). The topographical exactness here, under the poetic 
language, is worthy of remark, and is one of Milton's habits. But, had the 
Nymphs been there, what could they have done? Had the Muse herself been 
able to save her son Orpheus? Dwelling a little on this thought, of the non- 
immunity of even the finest intellectual promise from the stroke of death, 
Milton works it into one of the most beautiful and most frequently quoted 
passages of the poem: "Alas, what boots it," &c. (lines 64-S4). That 
strain, he says, at the end of the passage, had been "of a higher mood," 
rather beyond the range of the pastoral; but now he will resume his simple 
oaten pipe and proceed. There pass then across the visionary stage three 
figures in succession. First comes the Herald of the Sea, Triton, who 
reports, in mythological terms, which yet veil exact information, that the 
cause of King's death was not tempestuous weather, for the sea was as calm 
as glass when the ship went down, but either the unseaworthiness of the ship 
itself or some inherited curse in her very timbers. Next comes Camus, tlie 
local deity of the Cam, footing slowly like his own sluggish stream, and with 
his bonnet of sedge from its banks, staying not long, but uttering one 
ejaculation over the loss to Cambridge of one of her darling sons. Lastly, 
in still more mystic and awful guise, comes St. Peter, the guardian of that 
Church of Christ for the service of which King had been destined — the 
apostle to whom the Great Shepherd himself had given it in charge, " Feed 



428 THE ENGLISH POEMS. 



my sheep." Not out of place even his grave figure in this peculiar pastoral. 
For has he not lost one of his truest under-shepherds, lost him too at a time 
when he could ill be spared, when false shepherds, hireling shepherds, 
knowing nothing of the real craft they professed, were more numerous than 
ever, and the flocks were perishing for lack of care or by the ravages of the 
stealthy wolf ? It is to the singularly bold and stern passage of denunciation 
here put into St. Peter's mouth (lines 113-131), and especially to the last 
lines of the passage, prophesying speedy vengeance and reform, that Milton 
referred, when, in the title prefixed to the poem on its republication in 1645, 
he intimated that it contained a description of the state of England at the 
time when it was written, an(* foretold the ruin of the corrupted English 
clergy then in their height. In 1638 it had been bold enough to let the 
passage stand in the poem, as published in the Cambridge memorial volume, 
without calling attention to it in the title. But, indeed, this passage too had 
transcended the ordinary limits of the quiet pastoral. The poet is aware of 
this. Accordingly, when " the dread voice is past " that had so pealed over 
the landscape and caused it to shudder, he calls on Alpheus and the Sicilian 
Muse, as the patrons of the pastoral proper, to return, and be with him 
through the pensive remainder. Beautifully pensive it is, and yet with a 
tendency to soar. Pirst, in strange and evidently studied contrast with the 
stern speech of St. Peter which has just preceded, is the exquisitely worded 
passage which follows (lines 143-15 1). For musical sweetness, and dainty 
richness of floral colour, it beats perhaps anything else in all Milton. It is 
the call upon all valleys of the landscape, and the banks of all the secret 
streamlets, to yield up their choicest flowers, and those dearest to shepherds, 
that they may be strewn over the dead body of Lycidas. Ah ! it is but a fond 
fancy, a momentary forgetfulness. For where, meanwhile, is that dead body? 
Not anywhere on land at all, to be strewed with flowers and receive a funeral, 
but whelmed amid the sounding seas, either sunk deep down near the spot of 
the shipwreck, or drifted thence northwards perhaps to the Hebrides, or per- 
haps southwards to Cornwall and St. Michael's Mount. But let the surviving 
shepherds cease their mourning. Though that body is never again to be seen 
on earth, Lycidas is not lost. A higher world has received him already; and 
there, amid other groves and other streams, laving his oozy locks with the 
nectar of heaven, and listening to the nuptial song, he has joined the society 
of the Saints, and can look down on the world and the friends he has left, 

and act as a power promoted for their good. Here the Monody or 

Pastoral ends. The last eight lines of the poem do not belong to the 
Monody. They are not a part of the song sung by Milton in his imaginary 
character as the shepherd who is bewailing the death of Lycidas, but are 
distinctly a stanza of Epilogue, in which Milton speaks directly, criticises what 
he has just written in his imaginary character, and intimates that he has 
stepped out of that character, and is about to turn to other occupations : — 

" Thus sang the uncouth swain to the oaks and rills, 
While the still Morn went out with sandals grey; 
He touched the tender stops of various quills, 
With eager thought warbling his Doric lay; 
And now the Sun had stretched out all the hills, 
And now was dropt into the western bay: 
At last he rose and twitched his mantle blue; 
To-morrow to fresh woods and pastures new." 



SONNETS AND KINDRED PIECES. 429 



Sonnets and Kindred Pieces. 

In one well-known Sonnet Wordsworth has given the very essence of the 
history of the Sonnet down to Milton's time : — 

" Scorn not the Sonnet: Critic, you have frowned, 
Mindless of its just honours ! With this key 
Shakespeare unlocked his heart; the melody 
Of this small lute gave ease to Petrarch's wound; 
A thousand times this pipe did Tasso sound; 
With it Camoens soothed an exile's grief; 
The Sonnet glittered a gay myrtle leaf 
Amid the cypress with which Dante crowned 
His visionary brow; a glow-worm lamp, 
It cheered mild Spenser, called from Faery-land 
To struggle through dark ways; and, when a damp 
Fell round the path of Milton, in his hand 
The thing became a trumpet, whence he blew 
Soul-animating strains, — alas ! too few." 

Milton, however, is notable in the succession of chief Sonnet-writers, not 
only on account of the intrinsic power of the few Sonnets he did write, but 
also because he helped, by means of them, to establish or re-establish in 
England that stricter mechanism of the Sonnet which had been in favour with 
the Italians. 

The Sonnet may be defined, generally, as a little poem of fourteen lines, 
complete in itself, and containing a condensed expression of some one thought 
or feeling. The Italian poets, however, who had first practised the Sonnet, 
and from whom the Spaniards, the French, and the English had taken it, had 
practised it in one particular form, or rather in a certain variety of forms. 
Not only were the fourteen lines rhyming lines, of the norm of five Iambi 
each, but the rhymes interlaced each other in a peculiar manner. On the 
whole, the legitimate Italian Sonnet may be said to have contained either 
four rhymes or five rhymes altogether, of which two governed the first eight 
lines, and the remaining two or three the last six, the linking of the rhymes 
within this general provision admitting of variety, though some arrangements 
were preferred to others. The least common arrangement in the last six lints 
was that which ended the Sonnet in a rhyming couplet, so as to round it off 
with a kind of epigrammatic effect. 

On account of the paucity of rhymes in English as compared with Italian, 
the first English Sonnet-writers had made pretty free with the Italian model. 
There was some effort indeed to keep more or less close to that model, and 
especially not to go beyond five rhymes in all in the building of the Sonnet. 
Instances will be found in Wyatt (1503—1542), and in Surrey (1515— 1547). 
From the first, however, there was a tendency to the convenience of more 
numerous rhymes than the four or five allowed in Italian, and also, with or 
without that convenience, to the epigrammatic effect of an ending in a couplet. 
Hence, at length, a laxness in the English idea of the Sonnet, which permitted 
any little poem of fourteen Unes, rhymed anyhow, to be called by that name. 
Perhaps, however, two forms emerged from this confusion as normal or cus- 
tomary forms of the English Sonnet. One of these forms, largely exemplified 
in Spenser (1553-1599), is a form which finds five rhymes in all still sufficient, 
but does so by throwing the first twelve lines into three interlinked stanzas 



430 THE EN-GUSH POEMS. 



of four lines each, and then adding a couplet. The formula, more expressly, 
is ^ I, 3, ^ 2, 4, 5, 7, C 6, 8, 9, w, D lo, 12, ^ 13, 14; where the rhymes 
within the three stanzas, it will be observed, are alternate, but, by the device 
of making the last rhyme of the first stanza begin the second, and the last of the 
second again begin the third, four rhymes clear all the three stanzas and prepare 
for the fifth of the final couplet. But a still laxer form than this common 
Spenserian one was one to which even Surrey had helped himself, and of which 
there are examples in Spenser too, and others in Samuel Daniel (1562 — 1619). 
This form dispensed altogether with the interlinking of the three stanzas by 
rhymes common to the first and second and the second and third, and was 
content that the twelve lines should be three loose stanzas of alternate rhymes, 
connected only by a continuous meaning, and preceding the final couplet. Thus 
seven rhymes in all were allowed in the Sonnet, the formula being A i, t,, B 
2, 4, C ^,'], D 6, %, E % w, F 10, 12, G 13, 14. It was of this free forni of 
the Sonnet that Shakespeare availed himself; and all his famous Sonnets, with 
scarce an exception, are written in it. For example : — 

" No longer mourn for me when I am dead 
Than you shall hear the surly sullen bell 
Give warning to the world that I am fled 
From this vile world, with viler worms to dwell; 
Nay, if you read this line, remember not 
The hand that writ it; for I love you so 
That I in your sweet thoughts would be forgot. 
If thinking on me then should make you woe. 
O, if, I say, you look upon this verse 
When I perhaps compounded am with clay, 
Do not so much as my poor name rehearse, 
But let your love even with my life decay, 

Lest the wise world should look into your moan, 
And mock you with me after I am gone." 

To all time this type of Sonnet, though not the strict Italian, will remain, con- 
secrated by Shakespeare's great usage, a true and sufficient English type. Even 
while Shakespeare was alive, however, there lingered a knowledge of the stricter 
Italian type, and a disposition to exhibit it also in English. The Sonnets of 
Donne (1573 — 1 631), specimens though they are rather of metrical intellection 
than of lyrical effusion, are, most of them, more after the Italian mechanism 
than Spenser's, and much more than Shakespeare's. They are of five rhymes, 
of which two, by their interlinking, sustain the first eight lines of the Sonnet, 
leaving three for the other six lines. On the same principle, and with much 
more of softness and music in them, are the Sonnets of Drummond of Haw- 
thornden (1585 — 1649), a poet imbued with Italian influences and fond of the 
Sonnet. But both in Donne's Sonnets and in Drummond's, no less than in 
Spenser's and Shakespeare's, the sounding epigrammatic couplet at the end is 
still a constant feature. The English ear seems to have grown so accustomed 
to this ending as to require it, and it was usual to print Sonnets with these 
two final lines coupled together for the eye by indentation from the rest. 

It was reserved mainly for Milton to emancipate the English Sonnet from 
this peculiarity of the final rhyming couplet, by reasserting the Italian rule that 
it should be optional and occasional only, while at the same time he reverted 
to the Italian construction in other respects. An early student of the Italian 
poets, he had learnt the true music of the Sonnet from Petrarch most of all, 



SONNETS XX JI. AND XX III. 441 



" the Turk's Head in the New Palace Yard at Westminster." From the Son- 
net itself we learn that, besides being thus interested in political speculations, 
or before being so interested. Skinner was an eager student of mathematical 
and physical science. Wood seems to have been wrong in calling him " a 
merchant's son of London; " for he is otherwise known as the tliird son of 
William Skinner, a Lincolnshire squire, who had married Bridget, second 
daughter of the famous lawyer and judge Sir Edward Coke. This explains 
the compliment of pedigree in the first Hne of the Sonnet. As this William 
Skinner died in 1627, Cyriack, his son, though described as "an ingenious 
young gentleman" in 1659, must have been considerably older than young 
Lawrence. There is extant a deed of conveyance, of the date May 7, 1660, 
by which Milton makes over to " Cyriack Skinner, of Lincoln's Inn, Gentle- 
man," a Bond for 400/. given to Milton by the Commissioners of Excise. The 
transaction proves how intimate Milton was with Skinner; for it was on the 
eve of the Restoration, when property invested in Excise Bonds was not likely 
to be worth much to Milton or his representatives. 

Sonnet XXII. : Second Sonnet to Cyriack Skinner. 

This touching Sonnet must have been written some little time after the last; 
perhaps in 1655, but certainly not later than 1656. It is a Sonnet on Milton's 
blindness, written, as it purports, on the third anniversary of the day from 
which he dated the completeness of that calamity. The tenor of the closing 
lines prevented its publication in 1673. 

Sonnet XXIII. : To the Memory of his Second Wife. 

After some years of widowhood, Milton, still residing in Petty France, West- 
minster, had married, Nov. 12, 1656, at St. Mary Aldermanbury, London, his 
second wife, Catherine Woodcock, daughter of a Captain Woodcock, of Hack- 
ney. His wedded life with her, however, was doomed to be brief. She died in 
childbirth fifteen months after her marriage, and was buried at St. Margaret's, 
Westminster, Feb. 10, 1657-8. The infant daughter she had borne survived 
but about a month. Thus, in his fiftieth year, Milton was left in second widow- 
iiood, with his three young daughters by his first wife, the eldest not twelve 
years of age, partly depending on his charge, and partly deputed to take charge 
of him. There can be no sadder picture than that of the blind, stern man, in 
1658, going about his vacant house, the poor children not understanding him, 
and half afraid of him; and whoever visits the house now may do so with that 
picture in his mind. For the house still stands, and may be visited — actually 
the " pretty garden-house in Petty France, Westminster, next door to the Lord 
Scudamore's, and opening into St. James's Park," which Milton occupied from 
1652 to 1660; though now not " pretty,^.' nor a " garden-house " any longer, but" 
sorely disguised, degraded, and blocked in, as "No. 19, York Street, Westmin- 
ster." Going about in that house, or seated by himself in one of its rooms, 
as they may still be seen, Milton thinks much of his dead wife, far more really 
a partner of his heart than the first wife had been, but remembers also that first 
wife, the mother of his children, and wonders what may become of these chil- 
dren, left now with neither mother nor substitute. From his despondency, as 



442 THE ENGLISH POEMS. 



we know, he roused himself to resume that poem of Paradise Lost which he had 
schemed eighteen years before. But the sense of his loss recurs, and intrudes 
itself into his dreams. One night his dream is strangely happy. He sees his 
lately dead wife, not dead, but alive, and returned to him clad all in white like 
one of the Saints, her face veiled, and stooping to embrace him. He wakes from 
his dream to find it but a dream, and his night brought back : but he com- 
memorates the dream in a Sonnet. The reader ought to notice the full signifi- 
cance of the words of the Sonnet. It seems to be implied that Milton had never 
actually beheld his second wife with his bodily eyes, but had married her after he 
was blind, and with no acquaintance with her dating from before his blindness. 
Hence, though in his dream he sees her, it is as a radiant figure with a veiled 
face. He had not carried into sleep the recollection out of which the face 
could be formed, and could only know that love, sweetness, and goodness must 
have dwelt in one who had that saint-like figure. 



TRANSLATIONS. 



"The Fifth Ode of Horace, Lib. /., Englished." 

The particular Ode of Horace on the translation of which Milton bestowed 
so much pains is one on which many translators have since tried their hands; 
but it may be doubted whether any of them has beaten Milton. On the whole, 
however, the thing is a trifle. It must have been written after 1645, ^^ "^^ ^o&s, 
not appear in the edition of that year. 



"Nine of the Psalms done into Metre, wherein all but what is in 
A different character are the very Words of the Text, trans- 
lated FROM the Original." 

The Psalms grouped together under this heading are Psalms LXXX.'-^ 
LXXXVIIL; and the group is ushered in with the dating ^^ April 1648: 
J.M.,''' showing at what time they were translated. There can be no doubt, 
I think, that Milton was moved to his experiment by the interest which was 
then felt, both in England and Scotland, and had been felt for some years, in 
the project of a complete new Version of the Psalms, which should supersede, 
for public worship, the old English Version of Sternhold and Hopkins and 
others, first published complete in 1562, and the Version, partly the same, 
that had been in use in Scotland since 1565, and was known as Lekprevik's, 
from the name of the printer who had published it that year in Edinburgh. 
In spite of competing Versions of the Psalms, or of some of them, these had 
remained substantially the authorized Psalters in the two countries till the meet- 
ing of the Long Parliament, But, after the meeting of that body, and espe- 
cially after the Westminster Assembly had been convoked to aid it in religious 
matters (July 1643), ^ revision or renovation of the Psalter had been much 



TRANSLATIONS. 443 



discussed. It was one of those matters on which the Westminster Assembly 
were especially required to deliberate, and report to the Parliament. Hence a 
considerable activity in urging the claims of versions already made, either in 
print or in manuscript, by persons recently dead or still living. Not to speak 
of other Versions, acknowledged or anonymous, there was one by no less public 
a person in England than the pious Francis Rous, member of the Long Par- 
liament for Truro, and himself a lay-member of the Westminster Assembly 
(ist edit. 1641, 2nd 1643). On the whole, Rous's Version had many friends; 
and a revised edition of it, carefully made, was recommended by the West- 
minster Assembly to the Parliament (Nov. 1645). With this Version, by one 
of themselves, the Commons were well satisfied; and it was again printed in 
its revised form in 1646. But, as the Lords, or some of them, had taken up a 
rival Version, " close and proper to the Hebrew," by a Mr. William Barton, 
M.A. of Oxford (published in 1644), they were slow to acquiesce in the pref- 
erence for Rous; and, notwithstanding much urging of the subject by the 
Commons, and also by the Assembly, it stood over unsettled, so far as England 
was concerned. — That Milton, in his experiment in April 1648, had some view 
to the controversy then going on as to the national Psalter, and the rivalry 
between Rous and Barton, is rendered the likelier by the form his experiment 
took. He adopted the ordinary Service metre of eights and sixes, only rhym- 
ing the first and third lines as well as the second and fourth ; and he made it 
a punctilio to translate direct from the Hebrew, and to indicate every addition 
to the original by the use of ItaUc type. With all his pains, his Version of 
these nine Psalms is much inferior to what we should have expected from him. 
It is perhaps inferior to Rous's, and it is certainly inferior to the authorized 
Scottish Version of 1650 founded on Rous's. 

Psalms I. — VIII. : Done into Verse. 

The former experiment of a close translation of Nine of the Psalms into 
ordinary Service metre had been made by Milton in April 1648, when he was 
living in High Holborn, not yet blind, and (Charles I. being still alive) not yet 
Latin Secretary to the Commonwealth, nor with any prospect of being such. 
More than five years had elapsed since then, and Milton was living in Petty 
Trance, quite blind, and occupied with the duties of his Secretaryship, when 
something led him to recur to Psalm-translation. On a few successive days of 
August 1653 he dictated metrical versions of the first Eight of the Psalms. 
These versions, however, were done on a new principle. They did not profess 
to be close to the original, nor were they in the ordinary Service metre. On the 
contrary, very various metres were employed, some of them quite uncommon; 
and no two of the Eight Psalms were rendered in the same metre. Perhaps 
the main intention was to try the effect of such a freedom of metre. 

Scraps of Translated Verse from the Prose Writings. 

It was Milton's laudable habit, and one rather unusual in his day, not to 
trouble the readers of his English pamphlets and other writings with 
quotations in Latin and Greek, but, where he did have occasion to quote a 
Latin or Greek author, either to give the Enghsh sense of the passage, or to 



444 THE ENGLISH POEMS. 



annex the English sense to the quoted bit of Latin or Greek. So with 
Italian. Hence, when he wanted to quote a line or two from a Latin, Greek, 
or Italian poet, or a passage of Latin verse occurring in a prose author, he 
generally took the trouble to translate it off hand himself at the moment. 
In such cases blank verse came easiest, and all the scraps of the kind in his 
prose writings are in blank verse. He did not think it worth while to collect 
these for either the first or the second edition of his Poems; but they have 
very properly been sought out and placed in later editions. 



INTRODUCTIONS TO THE LATIN POEMS. 



The Latin Poems were distinctly divided by Milton himself, in both 
editions, into two Books or sets — an " Elegiarum Liber," or "Book of 
Elegies;" and a "Sylvarum Liber," or "Book of Sylv/E." The word 
Sylva (literally " a Wood ") was the name given by the Latin authorcraft of 
the Empire, as we learn from Quintilian, to any rough thing written off at a 
heat; and hence the Miscellanies of many poets are printed in their works 
under the title of Sylv(z. The distinction made by Milton between his 
Elegl^ or Elegies and his Sylv^ or Miscellanies seems to have been one 
of metrical form merely, and not of matter. Among the Elegies he put all 
pieces, of whatever kind, and whether properly " elegiac " or not in the sense 
of "pensive" or "mournful," that were written in the elegiac metre, of 
alternate Hexameters and Pentameters, so much used by TibuUus, Propertius, 
and his favourite Ovid. Among the Sylv/E or Miscellanies, on the other 
hand, he put all pieces written in other kinds of verse, whether in Hexameters 
only, or in such more complex Horatian measures as Alcaics and varied 
Iambics. Later editors, indeed, have taken the liberty of cutting off a few of 
the smaller pieces from the end of the Book of Elegies, and combining them 
with two or three scraps of Latin verse from the prose-pamphlets, so as to 
constitute a third brief Book, called Epigrammatum Liber, or Book of 
Epigrams. But, though the few pieces thus thrown together are of the 
nature of Epigrams, and some of them like Martial's Epigrams, the liberty 
seems unwarrantable. Milton made the distinction into Elegies and Sylv^ 
suffice, and we must do the same. 



ELEGIARUM LIBER. 

Elegia Prima: 

Ad Carolum Diodaium. 

The person addressed in this Elegy was Charles Diodati, the dearest and 
most intimate friend of Milton in his boyhood, and through his youth and 
early manhood, and for whose memory he entertained a singular affection in 
still'later hfe, after he had lost him by death. He will be mentioned again 
in the course of these Introductions. At present we shall trace what is 
known of him as far as to the date of this Elegy, i.e. to the year 1626. 

445 



446 THE LATIN POEMS. 



The family of Diodati (pronounce it Diodati) was Italian, belonging originally 
to Lucca in the Tuscan States, but driven thence, apparently, on account uf the 
Protestant opinions of its members. Of two brothers of the family, thus exiled 
from Italy by their Protestantism, one, named Giovanni Diodati, born in 1576, 
had become very eminent in Geneva, as a scholar and theologian, and was 
Professor of Hebrew and one of the ministers of that city. He was the author 
of various Calvinistic writings, much esteemed in their day by foreign Protestants 
and by the Puritans of England; he took a leading part in the famous Synod 
of Dort in 1618-19; and he would be yet remembered, if for nothing else, at 
all events for his Italian Version of the Scriptures, published in 1607, and 
known as " Diodati's Version." An elder brother of his, named Theodore 
Diodati, born in 1574, and educated for the medical profession, had made Eng- 
land his home, and, having married an English lady of some means, acquired 
a good practice and some celebrity as a physician, first at Brentford, and after- 
wards in London, where he resided in the parish of Little St. Bartholomew, not 
far from St. Paul's and Milton's native Bread Street. Of two sons of this natu- 
ralized London physician, by his English wife, one was called Charles and the 
other John. Milton knew both, but Charles was his especial friend. He 
was almost exactly of Milton's own age, or but a little older. He had been sent 
at a very early age to St. Paul's School, and it was there that Milton had become 
acquainted with him. He was probably somewhat in advance of Milton in the 
classes, for he left school for Trinity College, Oxford, in Feb. 162 1-2, three years 
before Milton left the same school for Cambridge. The separation was no 
interruption of their friendship. The young Oxonian and the young Cantab 
corresponded with each other; and in the University vacations they were much 
together in London, or in excursions in its neighbourhood. Probably because 
Diodati was destined for his father's profession of medicine, and was preparing 
for it, M'e do not hear much of his career at Oxford; but he was well liked in 
his College there, and there is a copy of Latin Alcaics by him in a volume of 
Oxford Verses put forth in 1624 on the death of the great scholar Camden. He 
seems, however, to have been fond of writing his letters in Greek; and two 
Greek letters of his to Milton have been strangely preserved, and are now in the 
British Museum. In the second of these he writes from some place in the country, 
saying he is leading a most pleasant life on the whole, though he rather misses 
intellectual companionship, and he advises Milton not to " tie himself night 
and day to his books," but to take some relaxation. *' I in all things else your 
inferior," he concludes, " am superior to you in this, that I know a measure in 
my labours." 

It seems possiljle that in this Greek missive, now in the British Museum, 
we have that very letter of Diodati to which Milton's Latin Elegy is an avowed 
reply. It is, at all events, a reply to so77ie letter of Diodati's sent from near 
Chester, and which reached Milton in London. The interest of Milton's Elegy 
in reply is, to a large extent, autobiographical; and there is one passage of par- 
ticular moment to the commentators. It is that beginning line 9 and ending 
line 24. Milton is supposed to refer here (and the supposition seems inevitable) 
to a fact in his life of which there is other evidence — viz. a quarrel he had, in 
his undergraduateship, with the authorities of Christ's College, Cambridge, and 
his temporary retirement or rustication from the College in consequence. It is 
positively known that Milton, while he M'as an undergraduate at Christ's, had 
some disagreement with the tutor under whose charge he had been put at the 



^ELECTA TERTIA. 447 



time of his first admission : viz. William Chappell, afterwards Provost of Trinity 
College, Dublin, and Bishop of Cloyne and Ross; and it is farther known that, 
in consequence of this disagreement — in the course of which Dr. Thomas 
Bainbrigge, the Master of the College, may have been called in, or may have 
interfered — Milton was transferred from the tutorship of Chappell to that of 
another of the Fellows of the College : viz. Nathaniel Tovey, afterwards parson 
of Lutterworth in Leicestershire. The probable date of this incident was the 
Lent or Easter term of Milton's second academic year, i.e. of the year 1625-6. 
The present Elegy was probably written during Milton's absence or rustica- 
tion from College that summer; and in the passage indicated he speaks of this 
absence or rustication {exiliicm is the word he uses) as not such a bad thing 
after all. Nevertheless, as he says in the end of the Elegy, it is arranged that 
he shall return to Cambridge. Actually, as we know, he did return, to finish 
his undergraduate course, under Tovey's tutorship. His temporary absence, 
we also know, counted for nothing against him; for he did not lose a term, but 
took his B.A. degree at exactly the proper time. 



Elegia Secunda. 

Anno setatis 17. 

In obitum PrcBconis Acadeniici Cantabrigiensis. 

Richard Ridding, M.A. of vSt. John's College, was Senior Esquire Bedel of the 
University when Milton went to Cambridge. Through two University sessions 
Milton had been familiar with his venerable figure; but about the beginning of 
Milton's third University session (1626-7) Ridding died. I have not ascertained 
the exact day, but the probate of his will is dated Nov. 8, 1626. The death of 
a University personage so conspicuous naturally gave occasion for versifying; 
and Milton's Elegy was one of the results. It ought to be noted that Milton's 
own dating of the Elegy '■'Anno cetatis 17 " is either wrong by a year, or must 
be translated laxly as meaning " at seventeen years of age." 

Elegia Tertia. 

Anno setatis 17. 

In obitnm Prcestilis Wintoniensis. 

On the 2 1st of September 1626, just before the beginning of Milton's third 
academic year at Cambridge, there died, at Winchester House, Southwark, 
the learned and eloquent Dr. Lancelot Andrewes, Bishop of Winchester, at the 
age of seventy-one. Milton's ecclesiastical opinions in his later life led him to 
be rather critical in his estimate of this famous Bishop, and indeed of Bishops 
generally; but in his Cambridge undergraduateship his anti-prelatic feelings 
were less pronounced, and he willingly joined in the chorus of regret over the 
loss of one of the brightest intellects in the English Church. The reader ought 
to note the historical allusions which the Elegy contains. The year of Bishop 
Andrew es's death had been one of great mortality by the Plague in England 
and of the deaths of several men of note abroad. 



448 THE LATIN POEM^. 



Elegia Quarta. 

Anno setatis i8. 

Ad Thomam Junium, prcEceptorem suiim, apud mercatores Anglicos 
Hamburgce agentes Pastoris munere fungentem. 

Thomas Young, Milton's first preceptor, was a Scotchman. He was born at 
Luncarty in Perthshire in or about 1588, was educated at the University of 
St. Andrews, and took his M.A. degree there. Perhaps because the acces- 
sion of James to the Enghsh throne in 1603 had opened up for many Scots 
prospects of a better livelihood in England than their own country afforded, 
Young had migrated thither while still a young man; and there are indistinct 
traces of him in the capacity of curate or assistant to Puritan parish-ministers 
in London and its neighbourhood before 1 61 8. He seems, however, to have 
employed himself chiefly in teaching; and, in the course of that employment, 
it was his good fortune to happen upon one pupil who was to be immortal. It 
is just possible that Milton had been boarded under Young's charge some- 
where near London before he went to St. Paul's School; but it is more likely 
that Young had only been his first domestic preceptor, and continued to be 
his private preceptor while he was at St. Paul's School, adding to the educa- 
tion which he was receiving publicly from Mr. Alexander Gill, the head-master 
of the School, and his son and assistant, Mr. Alexander Gill the younger. In 
that case, however, Young's tutorship of Milton did not extend over the whole 
period of his training under the two Gills. Milton, so far as is known, went to 
St. Paul's School in 1620, when he was eleven years of age, and he remained 
there till the winter or spring of 1624-5, when he left for Cambridge at the 
age of sixteen. But Young had left England for his chaplaincy to the English 
merchants at Hamburg at least as early as 1 622. Pie was then a married man, 
with children, and matters had not been so prosperous with him in England 
but that a foreign chaplaincy was acceptable. 

Milton, it appears, had cherished a warm recollection of Young in his exile, 
and occasional communications had passed between them. The first of Mil- 
ton's Latin Familiar Epistles is addressed to Young ( ThonuT Junio, prce- 
ceptori stio). It is dated "London, March 26, 1625," and was written, there- 
fore, after Milton had been admitted at Christ's College, Cambridge, but before 
his residence at Cambridge had fairly commenced. It is expressed in terms 
of the most ardent affection and gratitude, with apologies for having been 
remiss in his correspondence, and especially for having allowed three years to 
elapse since his last letter; and there is an acknowledgment also of the gift 
of a Hebrew Bible which Young had sent to him. "Two years more had 
passed since that Epistle was written, and Milton had again been remiss. The 
present Elegy is his atonement. He has been moved to write it by ominous 
news from the Continent. The great Continental war, known afterwards as 
The Thirty Years' IVar, was then in its second stage, when Christian IV. of 
Denmark was the leader of the Protestant Alliance against the Imperialists 
under Tilly and Wallenstein. Saxony, to which Hamburg was attached, was 
inextricably involved; and actually, while Milton wrote, the rumour was that 
the Imperialist soldiery were all round Hamburg and threatening it with 
siege. What might befall poor Young and his family? On this cause of alarm 



ELEGIA QUARTA. 449 



iSIilton dilates, not without a touch of anger at the stupidity and cold-hearted- 
ness of Britain, which had driven such a man as Young abroad for bare sub- 
sistence, to live poorly and obscurely amid strangers, when he might have 
been a noted minister of the Gospel at home. But he bids Young take 
courage. God will protect him through all the dangers of war; nay more 
(and with this prediction the Elegy closes), better times are in store for him, 
and he will not remain much longer in exile. 

Milton's prediction was very speedily fulfilled. Not many months after 
Young had received the Elegy, he returned to England; and on the 27th of 
March 1628, being then about forty years of age, he was inducted into the 
united Vicarages of St. Peter and St. Mary in Stowmarket, Suftblk. He had 
not been four months in his Vicarage at the date of a second letter to him 
from Milton, preserved among the Latin Familiar Epistles. It is dated "Cam- 
bridge, July 21, 1628," and shows that Milton and he must again have come 
together since his return to England. Young had invited Milton to come and 
see him at Stowmarket, and Milton accepts the invitation and promises to 
come soon. Accordingly, the tradition at Stowmarket is that Milton was a 
frequent visitor to Young during his incumbency. 

Young's incumbency at Stowmarket lasted all the rest of his life. But he 
was destined to a wider celebrity than attached merely to that incumbency. 
As he was of strict Puritan principles, it is difficult to imagine how he con- 
trived to tide through the time of the Laudian supremacy in the Church and 
State (1628 — 1640), during which Laud and his subordinate diocesans were 
so zealous in calling to account parish ministers of too Calvinistic doctrine, or 
too Puritanical in their dislike of vestments and ceremonies. Luck or pru- 
dence did carry him through, however; so that, at the close of Laud's suprem- 
acy, and the beginning of a new era for England with the Long Parliament 
(Nov. 1640), he was still Vicar of Stowmarket. During the two preceding 
years he had been sympathising with his fellow-countrymen, the Scots, in their 
Covenant, and their struggles against Laud and Charles; and in 1639 he had 
published a treatise in Latin entitled Dies Dominica, and consisting of a 
defence of the Puritan idea of the Sabbath-day and its proper observance. 
After the meeting of the Long Parliament, he is found coming decidedly to 
the front among the advocates of a radical Church Reform. In conjunction 
with four other parish ministers of noted Puritan principles — viz. Stephen 
Marshal, Edmund Calamy, Matthew Newcomen, and William Spurstow — he 
wrote the famous Smectymnuan Pamphlet, or Treatise by Smecfymnuus (a 
grotesque fancy-name composed of the initials of the five writers), in reply to 
Bishop Joseph Hall's defences of Episcopacy and of the English Liturgy. Of 
this Smectymnuan treatise, which was pubhshed in 1641, and was the first loud 
manifesto of Anti-Episcopal opinions within the Church itself, Young, it is 
now known, was the principal author. As Hall replied, and the Smectym- 
nuans replied again, the controversy prolonged itself through a series of pam- 
phlets, all now regarded as belonging to the Smectymnuan set, and two of 
which {"'Animadversions on the Remonstrant's Defence against Smectym- 
nuus" and "An Apology against a Pamphlet called a Modest Confutation of 
the AnifJiadversions") were from Milton's own pen. He had been in Young's 
confidence from the beginning of the controversy, and thought it right at last 
to plunge in personally to the rescue of Young and his brother Smectymnuans. 

It is doubtful whether the cordial intimacy between Milton and Young which 



450 THE LATIN POEMS, 



this co-operation indicates lasted much beyond those years, 1641-42, when the 
Smectymnuan controversy raged. Milton's subsequent Divorce Speculations, 
and his rupture with the Presbyterians, may have interfered with their intimacy, 
though not with their mutual regard. For Young was one of the divines of 
the Westminster Assembly, and went wholly with the great majority of that 
body in their aims towards the establishment in England of a strict Presby- 
terian system like that of Scotland. By this time he was so conspicuous a 
person that the Scots remembered he was their countryman, and would fain 
have induced him to return to Scotland by the offer of some suitable post. 
But England could outbid Scotland for him, and retained him to the end. In 
1644, when the University of Cambridge was visited by Parliamentary authority 
and refractory Heads of Houses and Fellows were turned out, and their places 
filled with new men. Young was appointed to the Mastership of Jesus College, 
in place of the ultra-Royalist and Laudian Dr. Richard Sterne. On the 12th 
of April in that year he was incorporated in the University ad enndem, '— i.e. 
to the same degree of M.A. which he had taken at St. Andrews nearly forty 
years before. On the 28th of February 1644-5 he preached a Fast-day Ser- 
mon before the House of Commons, which was published under the title of 
Hope's Encouragement. He lived for ten years longer, holding his Mastership 
of Jesus College in conjunction with his Vicarship of Stowmarket, and hon- 
oured as D.D. and otherwise. He died in 1655 at Stowmarket, at the age of 
about sixty-seven, and was there buried. A portrait of him, which was kept 
in the Vicarage, is still extant; and a print from it, after a photograph, is pre- 
fixed to ^^Biographical Notices of Thomas Young, S.T.D., Vicar of Stow- 
market, Suffolk^'' privately printed in 1870 by Mr. David Laing, of Edinburgh. 
It exhibits, through the blur of age that had come over the original, a really 
powerful, calm, and well-featured face. 

Elegia Quinta. 

Anno setatis 20. 

In Adventum Veris. 

This Elegy may be referred to the early part of 1629, when Milton had 
just taken his B.A. degree at Cambridge. Bachelor-like, he exults in the 
arrival of Spring, hailing the glad season of Nature's renewal in a poem 
which may be described as a laborious Latin amplification of the sentiment 
of Tennyson's lines : — 

" In the Spring a livelier iris changes on the burnish'd dove; 
In the Spring a young man's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love." 

Elegia Sexta. 

Ad Car alum Diodatum, ruri commorantem. 

The life of Diodati, and the history of Milton's friendship with him, as far 
as to the year 1626, have been sketched in the Introduction to the Elegia 
Pri?na. Three years had elapsed since then, and the two friends had been 
pursuing their separate courses — Diodati with the medical profession in 
prospect, but retaining his connexion with Oxford, where he graduated M.A. 



ELECTA SEPTIMA. 451 

in July 1628, and Milton persevering at Cambridge, where he graduated B.A. 
in January 1628-9. But their friendship was firm as ever, and they may have 
had meetings in the interval. One such meeting, of more than ordinary 
interest to both, may have been at Cambridge in July 1629; for Diodati, 
though then an Oxford M.A. of but one year's standing, was incorporated 
ad eiindejn at Cambridge in the July Commencement of that year. So early 
an incorporation in the sister University was unusual, and I seem to see in the 
fact an arrangement between the two friends. 

The heading of the Elegy tells the rest. The sprightly, quick-witted Italian 
had gone again into the country in 1629, either to the neighbourhood of 
Chester, as on the occasion of the First Elegy, or to some other part of 
England. There, in some pleasant country mansion, and among pleasant and 
hospitable friends, he is having a delightful winter holiday. It is but the 13th 
of December, but they are making Christmas of it already — good cheer, 
blazing fires, wine, music, dancing, games of forfeits, &c. So Diodati informs 
Milton, pleading these festivities in excuse for neglect of Poetry. The reply 
is very characteristic. After messages of affection, Milton playfully objects to 
Diodati's excuse, and maintains that festivity and poetry, Bacchus and Song, 
Venus and Song, are naturally kin and always have gone together. Suddenly, 
however, in this vein he checks himself. What he has said is true, he 
explains, only of certain kinds of poetry and certain orders of poets. For the 
greatest poetry there must be a different regimen. For those who would 
speak of high matters, the deeds of heroes and the counsels of the gods, for 
those whose poetry would rise to the prophetic strain, not wine and con- 
viviality were fitted, but spare Pythagorean diet, the beechen bowl of pure 
water, a life even ascetic in its abstinence, and scrupulously pure. This is an 
eminently Miltonic idea, perhaps /r<?-eminently the Miltonic idea; and it 
occurs again and again in Milton's writings. Nowhere, however, is it more 
finely expressed than in the passage in this Elegy beginning ^^ At qui bella 
referV and ending '' ora Jovem'" (lines 55 — 78). These twenty-four Hnes 
are about Milton's noblest in Latin, and deserve to be learnt by heart with 
reference to himself, or to be written under his portrait. They give a value to 
the whole Elegy. The lines that follow them, however (79 — 90), have also 
a peculiar interest. They inform us that, at the very time when Milton was 
writing this Elegy to Diodati, he was engaged on his English Ode " On the 
Morning of Christ's Nativity." He had begun it, he says, on Christmas-day, 
and he promises to show it to Diodati. As the Ode, in its place among the 
English Poems in Milton's First Edition, is dated " 1629," this fixes the date 
of the Elegy. 

Elegia Septima. 

Anno setatis undevigesimo. 

This Elegy, which is the last of any length in the Book, and the last to 
which Milton attached a number, is out of its proper chronological place. 
*' Anno cEtaiis undevigesimo'' ("in his nineteenth year") is the dating; and, 
as Milton here uses the numeral adjective, and not, as in other cases, the 
Arabic figures for the number, it is perhaps to be understood exactly — i.e. as 
implying that the Elegy was written between Dec. 9, 1626, and Dec. 9, 1627. 
Possibly, however, even with the use of the numeral adjective, Milton gives 



452 THE LATIN POEMS. 



himself the benefit of a year, and means " at nineteen years of age," or 
between Dec. 9, 1627, and Dec. 9, 1628. In either case, the precise month 
is fixed by the Elegy itself as May. The date therefore is either May 1627 or 
May 1628. 

The Elegy is more decidedly and thoroughly a love-poem than any of the 
others. In the First Elegy, Ad Carolum Diodatum, there is a gallant mention 
of the London beauties to be seen in the parks and public gardens; and in a 
part of the Fifth, In Adventuvi Veris, there is a poetical recognition of Cupid's 
activity as one of the phenomena of Spring. But the present Elegy is a love- 
confession throughout, and quite precise and personal. It was May time, we 
are told, and Cupid had sworn to be revenged on Milton for his contempt of 
love and his boasts of being heart-whole. Fifty lines are taken up in telling 
this and describing the little love-god and his threats. Then, at line 51, the 
real story begins. Forgetting all about the love-god, he takes his walks, as 
usual, now in those parts of London where the citizens promenade, and now 
in the neighbouring country, with its hamlets and villas. He observes, in the 
streets more especially, the crowd of beauties, perfect goddesses, that pass and 
repass. He indulges in the sight, as often before, pleased, but little thinking 
what was to come of it this time. For alas ! one fair one, supereminent among 
all, caught his glance, and the wound was fatal. It was but the sight of a 
moment, for she was gone, never again to be seen on earth; but her face and 
her form were to remain with him a vision for ever. No longer now is he 
heart-whole, for he goes about sweetly miserable. Cupid has had his revenge, 
and he acknowledges now that little god's power. Oh, if ever he and such a 
fair one should meet again, might one arrow transfix both their hearts ! 

A peculiar circumstance about this Elegy is that it is followed by a Postscript. 
For the ten lines, beginning ^""Hcec ego " and ending " ipsa Venus^'' which I 
have caused to be printed in italics in the present edition, are not, as might 
be supposed at first sight, and has been generally assumed, an epilogue to the 
whole series of Seven Elegies preceding them. If the Epilogue is carefully 
read, it will be seen that in no mood of sternness could it be applicable to all 
the seven numbered Elegies, or to most of them. There were some of them 
of which, juvenile though they were, Milton could still approve in his manhood. 
But, in 1645, when he looked over those pieces before giving them to the printer 
for Moseley's volume, that love-confession of the Seventh Elegy delayed him. 
He thought it maudlin : perhaps he remembered the exact incident and its 
circumstantials with half a blush. Ought he to print the thing? His hesitation 
to do so accounts perhaps for its coming out of its proper chronological place; 
but at last he lets it go, only adding the Postscript of recantation. That 
Postscript, therefore, has to be dated 1645, '^'^ eighteen years after the Elegy 
to which it is attached. 



EPIGRAMS. 

"In Proditionem Bombardicam and In Inventorem Bombards." — 
The anniversary of the Gunpowder Plot seems to have been a regular occasion 
for versifying in English Schools and Colleges in Milton's time. Among the 
Sylvae there is a long poem in Hexameters by Milton on this subject, entitled 
In Quintum Novembris ; and the four little pieces on the same subject among 



EPIGRAMS. 



453 



the Elegies may have been Milton's easier tributes to University custom on 
some one, or on several, of the Fifths of November of his Cambridge under- 
graduateship. They express rather wittily the popular Protestant horror of 
Guy Fawkes and his attempt. The hfth piece, not on the Gunpowder Treason, 
but on the Inventor of Gunpowder, is but a variation of the general theme : 
and the five together may be called the Gunpowder Group. 

"Ad Leonoram Rom.e Canentem." — These three pieces of compliment 
must have been written at Rome in one or other of Milton's two terms of resi- 
dence in that city during his memorable ItaHan tour. His first visit, in October 
and November 1638, is the more likely time. An incident of that visit, recorded 
by Milton himself in one of his Familiar Epistles {Luca Holstenio, Roma, iji 
Vaticano), was his presence at a magnificent musical entertainment given by 
Cardinal Francesco Barberini in his palace. All the elite of Rome were present 
at this concert; but the courteous cardinal, receiving the crowding guests at 
the doors, had singled out the Enghsh stranger, and welcomed him with special 
attention. To Milton, with his love of music, this concert may have been an 
unusual pleasure, especially if it was there that he heard the singer Leonora to 
whom the present pieces are addressed. There or elsewhere in Rome he did 
hear that paragon of voices. For, throughout the world, or at all events the 
musical and Italian world, there was no singer then so renowned as Leonora 
Baroni. There is an article on her in Bayle's Dictionary, the substance of which, 
apart from minuter information in the notes, runs thus : " Baroni, Leonora, 
" an Italian lady, one of the finest voices of the world, flourished in the seven- 
*' teenth century. She was the daughter of the beautiful Adriana, a Mantuan, 
" and was so admired that an infinity of beaux esprztsma.de verses in her praise. 
"There is a volume of excellent pieces, in Latin, Greek, Prench, Italian, and 
" Spanish, printed at Rome under the title of * Applatisi Poetici alle glorie delta 
" Signora Leonora Baroni.^ " Leonora went about usually with her mother, 
the beautiful Adriana Baroni, and a sister called Katarina. Though Bayle 
makes the family Mantuan, it was originally Neapolitan, and had migrated 
from Naples to Mantua. From 1637 onwards, however, Rome was the head- 
quarters of the fascinating three. 

" Apologus de Rustico et Hero." — There is nothing to date this Apo- 
logue, except that its non-appearance in the edition of 1645 suggests that it 
was written after that year. 

De Moro. — So we may entitle the lampoon on Milton's antagonist Mortis^ 
or Alexander More, which appeared in Milton's Defensio Secunda pro Populo 
Anglicaiio (1654), and was reproduced in his Pro se Defensio contra Alexan- 
drtim Morton (1655). More was a Frenchman, of Scottish parentage, born in 
161 6, who, after a varied career of celebrity as a Protestant preacher aiid Pro- 
fessor of Greek and of Theology in various parts of the Continent — at Geneva, 
in Holland, and again in France — died in Paris in 1670, four years before 
Milton. His collision with Milton dates from the year 1652, when he caused 
to be printed, at the Hague, a treatise against the English Commonwealth 
entitled "Regii Sanguinis Cla^nor ad Ccehim adversus Parricidas Anglicanos " 
("Cry of the King's Blood to Heaven against the English Parricides"). In 
this treatise Milton was attacked for his Defences of the Regicide; and, 
though it was anonymous, and was really not by More, but by Peter du Moulin 
the younger, Milton made More responsible. In his Defensio Secunda and in 
his Pro se Defensio he dragged More through a perfect ditch of invective, 



454 



THE LATIN POEMS. 



publishing all sorts of scandals against More's private character, which had 
come to him from correspondents in Geneva and elsewhere. The present 
distich, though now printed as Milton's, because used by him twice, was really 
by some Dutch wit. 

Ad Christinam, Suecorum Reginam, nomine Cromwelli, — The lines 
printed with this title in most modern editions of Milton's poems are supposed 
to have been written for Cromwell in 1654, the first year of his Protectorate, to 
accompany a portrait of himself which he then sent to the eccentric, and then 
famous Christina, Queen of Sweden. Being in elegiac verse, they have their 
proper place here in the Elegiarum Liber, if they are Milton's. But, almost 
certainly, they are Andrew Marvell's. They appeared as his, with only slight 
verbal variations, in his Miscellaneous Poems, published by his widow in 1 681, 
three years after his death. 

SYLVARUM LIBER. 

In obitum Procancellarii Medici. 

Anno aetatis 17. 

In both Milton's editions this piece is dated ''A/mo ce talis 16." This date is 
a blunder. For, even if we allow Milton his ordinary liberty of dating, accord- 
ing to which the phrase must be translated "at the age of 16 years " and not 
" in the i6th year of his age " (see Introductions to Elegies Second and Third), 
the dating will not correspond with the incident of the Poem. That incident 
was the death of John Gostlin, M.D., Master of Gonville and Caius College, 
Cambridge, from 161 8, and Vice-Chancellor of the University for the second 
time in the year 1625-6. His Vice-Chancellorship would have expired 
Nov. 3, 1626; but he died some days before that date, and still holding the office : 
viz. on the 21st of October, 1626. The Michaelmas Term of Milton's third 
aca lemic year had just begun, and Milton was full seventeen years of age, and, 
in fact, verging on eighteen. This dating " anno cFtatis 16" was, therefore, a 
slip of memory. — The Dr. Gostlin, whose death is lamented in the poem, in 
very pretty mythological language and in good Horatian verse, was a Norwich 
man by birth, educated at Caius College, admitted M.D. in 1602, and after- 
.wards Regius Professor of Physic in the University. When his turn came 
round to be Vice-Chancellor, it was something of a rarity in the University 
to see an M.D. rather than the customary D.D. in that office. *' Here comes 
our medical Vice-Chancellor," one may fancy the Cantabs of 1625-6 saying 
to each other when they saw Gostlin in the streets. His death, just at the close 
of his year of office, and when the Colleges had reassembled for a new session, 
naturally occasioned versifying. 



In Quintum Novembris. 

Anno setatis 17. 

This is a Gunpowder Plot poem, written by Milton for Guy Fawkes's Day, 
or the Fifth of November, 1626. There are four Latin trifles on the same 
subject among the Elegies, but the present piece, in sustained Hexameters, is 
a much more elaborate performance. It is, indeed, one of the very best of 



NATURAM NON PATI SENIUM. 455 



Milton's things in Latin. The spirit, it is true, is that of the common popular 
Protestantism of England in Milton's time, which firmly believed in all the 
traditional details of the Plot of 1605, and regarded it as a wide-spread conspir- 
acy of the Roman Catholics, characteristic of their principles and prompted 
by the Papacy itself. Naturally, such a poem (and there are minuter ferocities 
against the Papacy in the filling-up) will be read in different humours by 
different persons. But the execution of the poem, the power of imagination and 
of language shown in it, cannot fail to strike even the reader who is least satis- 
fied with its spirit. I would instance particularly the description of Satan flying 
through the air and beholding Britain (hues 7 — 47), that of the den of Murder 
and Treason (lines 139 — 156), and that of the Temple of Fame (lines 170 — 193). 
The ending of the poem is rather abrupt. 

In obitum Pr/esulis Eliensis. 

Anno setatis 17. 

On the 5th of October, 1626, or only a fortnight after the death of Dr. 
Lancelot Andrewes, Bishop of Winchester, there died another prelate. Dr. 
Nicholas Felton, Bishop of Ely. Like Andrewes, he was a Cambridge man, 
of Pembroke Hall, and he had, like Andrewes, been for some time Master of 
that Hall before he was made a bishop. Milton, who had just written his 
Elegy on Andrewes's death (^Elegia T'dV/m) , paid a similar honour to his brother- 
bishop, but employed Iambic verse of alternate Trimeters and Dimeters instead 
of Elegiacs. Hence this piece on Felton comes among the Sylvce. 

NaTURAM NON PATI SENIUM. 

From one of Milton's Epistohe Familiares, dated " Cambridge, July 2, 
1628," and addressed to his former master at St. Paul's School, Alexander 
Gill the younger, it appears that these Latin Hexameters were one of the pieces 
of verse printed copies of which were distributed, according to custom, by the 
University Bedels at the Cambridge Commencement ceremonial, or annual 
meeting for the conferring of degrees, held in St. Mary's Church on Tuesday, 
the 1st of July, 1628. 

The ceremonial, though held at the end of the academic year, was called 
the "Commencement," because those who graduated in Divinity, Arts, Law, 
Physic, and Music were then said to " commence " in their respective faculties, 
and were designated Inceptores. Part of the business in the graduation in each 
faculty consisted of what was called an Act or Disputation in that faculty, 
carried on in Latin between one appointed debater-in-chief called the Respon- 
dent (in the Divinity Act there were generally two Respondents) and other 
debaters who attacked him successively and were called Opponents. First, 
early in the morning, as soon as all had assembled in St. Mary's Church, the 
Vice-Chancellor presiding, there began the Divinity Act, or Debate, accompanied 
by a distribution of copies of verses, and ending in the ceremonious conferring 
of the degree of D.D. on all the candidates of the year for that. degree. Next, 
and usually about mid-day, came on the Philosophical Act and Graduation in 
Arts. This was a richer and more diversified affair than the Divinity Gradua- 
tion which had preceded it, not only because the candidates for the M.A. degree 



456 THE LATIN POEMS. 



each year were a very numerous body, consisting of young men from all the 
Colleges, but also because custom tolerated a great deal of liberty and even of 
fun in the philosophical discussion. Here also, however, the backbone of the 
business was the Latin logomachy between the appointed representative of the 
Arts faculty, called the Respondent, and the Opponents who successively 
attacked him; and here also the logomachy began with the reading of the 
Respondent's thesis, and the distribution of his verses, while he was reading 
it, by the University Bedels. After the Act was over, there was a specimen 
only of the actual graduation in Arts within the church, in the persons of the 
ten or twelve Commencers from King's College; and the rest were marched 
off to receive their M.A. degree in the Public School. For by this time it was 
growing late, and the Law Act, the Physic Act, and the Music Act, with their 
accompanying graduations, had still to come. 

Milton may have been present already at three Commencements; but that 
of 1628 had a peculiar interest for him. Bainbrigge, Master of his own College 
of Christ's, was Vice-Chancellor of the University for the year 1627-8, and 
there was a relish for the undergraduates of Christ's in this fact, and in the 
prospect of his presidency in the Comitia of July 1628. Nor was that all. One 
of the Senior Fellows of Christ's, it appears, had been selected for the impor- 
tant post of Respondent in the Philosophical Act for that year; and he had 
found the bit of verse expected from him quite out of his habits, or had broken 
down over it at the last moment, and had asked Milton to help him out. With 
some pains, from the shortness of the time, Milton had furbished up what he 
thought would pass; and so the Christ's College people might congratulate 
themselves triply on the representation of their College at the Commencement 
of 1628. Not only would their Master preside as Vice-Chancellor, and not only 
would a Fellow of their College be Respondent in the Philosophical Act, but 
the Latin verses which the University Bedels would distribute in connexion 
with that Act would be (but perhaps it was a secret) by an undergraduate of 
Christ's. Actually the verses were put into print and distributed by the Bedels; 
and on the 2nd of July, or the day after the Commencement, Milton was able 
to send a copy, or some copies, of them to Gill in London. 

One would like now to know which of the thirteen Fellows of Christ's it was 
that begged Milton's poetical help, and what was the subject of the thesis which 
the verses were to illustrate. We have light only on the last point from 
Milton's lines. " 1 hat Nature is not subject to old age " is the proposition they 
maintain. They are, in fact, a powerful, and very eloquent and poetical, pro- 
test against the notion of a gradual decadence or deterioration of the physical 
Universe or visible frame of things. The verses being in this strain, we are 
led to think that the Philosophical Thesis which they were written to 
illustrate must have been some form of the same proposition. It is certainly 
known, at all events, that a question much debated in the speculative world 
of England about 1628 was the question whether there were signs of decay in 
Nature, whether the Present were necessarily inferior to the Past, or whether 
endurance, or even general progressiveness and improvement, might not be 
the rule. Bacon's influence, opposed as it was to that abject reverence for 
antiquity which had prevailed since the Revival of Letters, had given an 
impulse to what was still perhaps the heterodox sentiment, namely faith in 
the present and in the future. 



AD PATREM. 457 



De Idea Platonica quemadmodum Aristoteles intellexit. 

This is, clearly, also an academic exercise; but in which year of Milton's 
residence at Cambridge it was written, and for what occasion, I cannot 
determine. It answers exactly to its title, " On the Platonic Idea as tinder- 
stood by Aristotle^ That is to say, with an evident admiration of Plato, and 
an imaginative sympathy with his doctrine of an eternal Idea or Archetype, 
one and universal, according to which Man was formed, and which reproduces 
itself in men's minds and thoughts, it yet shows how, by a too physical or 
too coldly rational construction of this doctrine, it may be turned into 
burlesque. 

Ad Patrem. 

These Hexameters are undated, but their date is hinted by their meaning. 
They are an affectionate address to the poet's father, apparently in reply to 
some mild remarks of the father on the subject of the son's dedication of 
himself to a life of mere Poetry and Literature, and not, as had been hoped, 
to one of the professions. They were written, therefore, after Milton had 
left Cambridge, and had begun his secluded life of study at his father's 
country-place at Horton in Buckinghamshire. In lines 73 — 76 the reference 
to Horton seems to be distinct. 

Milton's father was himself an excellent and interesting man. He was 
from the neighbourhood of Oxford, where a Roman Catholic family of 
Miltons, the poet's ancestors, are found living, in the rank of yeomen, from 
about 1550 onwards. One of the family, Richard Milton, of Stanton St. 
John's, yeoman, was very resolute in his adherence to the old Religion, and is 
mentioned twice in the Recusant Rolls for Oxfordshire as among those who 
were heavily fined towards the end of Elizabeth's reign (1601) for obstinate 
non-attendance at their parish churches. He was the poet's grandfather, one 
of his sons, John Milton, being the poet's father. This John Milton, who 
became a Protestant, and is said to have been cast off by his father on that 
account, had settled in London, and was in business there as a scrivener, 
before the above-mentioned date of his father's fines for recusancy. The 
business of a scrivener in Old London was an important, and sometimes a 
lucrative, one. It consisted in the drawing up of wills, marriage settlements, 
and other deeds, the lending out of money for clients, and much else now 
done partly by attorneys and partly by law-stationers. The house of the new 
scrivener, John Milton, which was also his place of business, was the Spread 
Eagle in Bread Street, Cheapside, in the very heart of London. 

There the scrivener married, probably in 1600, and there his children were 
born. They were six in all; of whom only three survived to maturity — the 
eldest, a daughter Anne, afterwards Mrs. Phillips, and again, by a second 
marriage, Mrs. Agar; John Milton, the poet, born Dec. 9, 1608: and 
Christopher Milton, afterwards Sir Christopher Milton and a judge, born 
Dec. 3, 1 61 5. The household in Bread Street seems to have been a peculiarly 
peaceful and happy one, with a tone of pious Puritanism prevailing in it, but 
with the liberal cheerfulness belonging to prosperous circumstances and to 
ingenious and cultivated tastes. For one thing, music was perpetual in it. 
The scrivener was not only passionately fond of music, but even of such note 
as a composer that, apart altogether from the great fame of his son, some 



458 THE LATIN POEMS. 



memory of him might have lingered among us to this day. Madrigals, songs, 
and psalm-tunes of his composition are to be seen yet in music-books pub- 
lished before his son was born, or while he was but in his boyhood, and not in 
mere inferior music-books, but in collections in which Morley, Wilbye, Bull, 
Dowland, Ellis Gibbons, Orlando Gibbons, and others of the best artists of the 
day, were his fellow-contributors. There must have been frequent musical 
evenings, with one or more musical acquaintances present, in the house in 
Bread Street; books of music and musical instruments were parts of its 
furniture; and the young poet was taught by his father both to sing and to 
play the organ. But the scrivener's designs for his children went beyond their 
mere training in his own art. It was his care to give them the best education 
possible, and to grudge nothing of his means towards that end. From the 
first there is proof that his heart was bound up in his son John, and that he 
had conceived the highest expectations of what that son would turn out to be. 
A portrait of the poet, as a sweet, serious, round-headed boy, at the age of 
ten, still exists, which his father caused to be done by the foreign painter then 
most in fashion, and which hung on the wall of one of the rooms in the house 
in Bread Street. Both father and mother doted on the boy and were proud 
of his promise. And so, after the most careful tuition of the boy at home, by 
his Scottish preceptor Young (see anti, p. 453), and his farther training by 
the two Gills at St. Paul's School, close to Bread Street (see anti, p. 453), he 
was sent to Christ's College, Cambridge, in 1 625, whither his younger brother, 
Christopher, followed him in Feb. 1 630-3 1. The expense of maintaining two 
sons at Cambridge was considerable, and proves that the scrivener must have 
succeeded well in his business. 

That the scrivener's business had been a flourishing one is farther proved by 
the fact that he was able to retire from it, in whole or in part, in or about 1632, 
to the country-house at Horton, which he either took then, or had already been 
in possession of for some time. Thither, in that year, his son, having com- 
pleted his seven years at the University and taken his M.A. degree, went to 
reside with him. So far all his highest hopes of that son had been fulfilled. 
He was then twenty-three years of age; and what youth comparable to him 
had the University sent out — what youth of such fair grace of form, of such 
genius and accomplishments, of character so manly and noble? A second 
portrait of Milton, done in the time of his Cambridge studentship, when he 
was about twenty-one years of age, attests the continued pride in him of his 
father and mother. Only one thing a little troubled the elderly people, and 
particularly the father. This son of theirs, whom they had destined for the 
Church, had clearly and resolutely abjured that destination of himself as 
against his conscience; the profession of the Law, thought of for a moment, 
had also been set aside; and here he was back on their hands, with no clear 
line of Ufe before him, such as other young men of his age had, but buried 
in books and lost in Poetry. Some remonstrances to this effect may have 
been expressed by the father; but, if so, they must have been in the mildest 
and most hesitating terms (for Milton, I fancy, had learnt to be master and more 
in his father's house). Or, without any such remonstrances, Milton may have 
divined what was passing in the minds of his parents and in their colloquies 
concerning him. And so, on some occasion when the subject had been 
broached, or it was strong in Milton's musings, he writes this grateful and 
affectionate poem Ad Fatrem. 



GREEK VERSES. 459 



** Well, John, I have faith in you: take your own way, whatever it is; 
God has given me enough of means, my son, for all immediate needs; and, 
while I live, what I have is yours." As surely as if we had heard these 
words spoken, they were the response of Milton's father to the pleading of 
this poem. They were his response not in words only, but in fact. Until 
Milton was thirty-two years of age, if even then, he did not earn a penny 
for himself. 

Greek Verses. 

Milton, though an assiduous and enthrusiastic reader of the Greek classics, 
did not give much time to the practice of Greek composition. He has left 
but three pieces of Greek verse; and the verdict upon ihem by the critic of 
subsequent times who has published the minutest examination of them (Dr. 
Charles Burney, 1757 — 181 7), is that they show imperfect Greek scholarship. 
He finds lax construction in them, questionable usages of words, and even 
false quantities. 

Psalm CXIV. — This seems to have been a favourite Psalm with Milton, for 
it is one of the two which he had paraphrased in English when he was fifteen 
years of age (see ant^, p. 403). The present version of it in Greek Hexame- 
ters was done in 1634, as appears by a Latin letter of Milton to Gill the younger, 
of date Dec. 4 in that year. 

Philosophus ad Regem Quendam, etc. — As these Hexameters appear 
in the Edition of 1645, and as their tenor suggests that they were done after 
the Civil War had begun, we may date them between 1642 and 1645. 

In Effigiei ejus Sculptorem. — These satirical Iambics were engraved 
by way of practical joke under Marshall's portrait of Milton in the 1645 Edition 
of his poems (see ant^, p. 398); in the Edition of 1673, which did not contain 
that portrait, they were put into the text. 



Ad Salsillum, Poetam Romanum, ^grotantem. — Scazontes. 

This was written at Rome, either in 1638 or in 1639, in one of Milton's two 
visits to that city. The person addressed is Joannes Salsillus, or Giovanni 
Salzilli, a Roman Poet, whose acquaintance Milton had made in these visits. 
He must have been of considerable note in Roman society in his day; for I 
find him a leading contributor to a volume published at Rome in 1637 ^^^ 
dedicated to Cardinal Cesarini under the title of ^^Poesie de'' Signori Accademici 
Fantastici,^'' i.e. Poems by members of the Academy of the Fantastics. Appar- 
ently he was a young man and habitually an invalid. He was in bad health, 
at all events, when Milton addressed to him these Scazontes, i.e. verses written 
in the "limping measure" employed by the Greek poet Hipponax, the 
peculiarity of which is that the verse is regular Iambic trimeter until the last 
foot, where, by the substitution of a spondee or trochee for the expected 
Iambus, an effect is given ^s of coming to the last step of a stair with the wrong 
emphasis. To bring out this effect fully, the fifth or penultimate foot ought 
always to be an Iambus; but Milton has not attended strictly to this rule. 
In the verses Milton expresses his wishes for Salzilli's recovery, pays him a 
compliment on his poetry, and refers to the four lines of Latin elegiac verse 
in which Salzilli had, with Italian politeness, so hyperbolically praised Milton, 



46o THE LATIN POEMS. 



on slight acquaintance, extolling him above Homer, Virgil, and Tasso. See 
the lines among the Testimonies to Milton by Italians, prefixed to the Latin 
Poems. 

Mansus. 

This is a poem of remarkable interest, addressed to the most distinguished, 
in some respects, of all the Italians with whom Milton became personally 
acquainted during his Italian journey, viz. the Neapolitan, Giovanni Battista 
Manso, Marquis of Villa, and Lord of Bisaccio and Panca. 

Manso was born in 1561, three ye^s before Shakespeare; and his long life 
had been spent chiefly in such occupations as the political condition of Naples 
and Southern Italy, then subject to the Spaniards and governed by Viceroys 
from Madrid, permitted to a wealthy and high-minded native of those parts. 
The cultivation of philosophy, art, and poetry for himself, and the encourage- 
ment of these pursuits in others, and of a life of at least pleasant sociabiUty 
where political independence was denied, had been his business and delight. 
His life had been identified with the history of Italian Literature for half a 
century. No Italian of note during that period but Manso had known; few 
but had known and been indebted to Manso. Above all, he had been the 
friend, the bosom friend, of the two greatest poets of Italy in his generation, 

Tasso and Marini. Tasso, in the strange madness that came over him in 

his manhood, clouding his beautiful mind, but leaving it still capable of the 
noblest poetry, had been led, in his wanderings over Italy, to Manso's door at 
Naples (1588). Manso, then in his twenty-eighth year, M'hile Tasso was in his 
forty-fifth, had received the illustrious unfortunate, had kept him in his splendid 
villa at Naples and in his country-house at Bisaccio, had tended him in his fits 
of gloom, and soothed him in those moments when the frenzy was at its strongest, 
and the air around him was full of visions and voices, and he would call on 
Manso to look and listen. Thus had grown up a friendship which lasted with 
Tasso's life. Twice again he had been Manso's guest; it was in Manso's house, 
in one of these visits, that he completed his Gerttsalenime Conqiiistata, in one 
of the books of which he introduces Manso's name; in his Dialogue on Friend- 
ship Manso is one of the speakers, and it is dedicated to Manso and entitled 
// Manso; and there are other recognitions of their intimacy in sonnets of Tasso 
addressed to Manso. On Tasso's death-bed in Rome (1595) he spoke of 
Manso ; a picture of Tasso which Manso had painted was bequeathed back to 
him; and it was Manso that, some years afterwards, caused the well-known 
inscription ^^ To7-quati Tassi Ossa''^ to be cut on Tasso's tomb. In 1619 there 
had been published at Naples a Life of Tasso, without Manso's name, but known 
to be his, and containing an affectionate collection of personal details respect- 
ing the poet. It was a popular book in Italy, and had been several times 

reprinted. Hardly less intimate than Manso's friendship with his illustrious 

senior, Tasso, had been his friendship with his junior, Marini (born 1 569) , Tasso's 
most celebrated successor in Poetry, though a corruption of Italian taste in 
Poetry is traced now to his sweet and sensuous genius. Marini, a Neapolitan by 
birth, but, like Tasso, much of a wanderer, had also been a frequent guest at 
Manso's villa, had been protected by him and served in many ways; and, when 
Marini died, in 1625, two years after the publication of his Adone, the charge 
of his burial and of erecting his monument was left to Manso. It was under- 
stood that Manso M'as preparing a biography of Marini similar to that he had 



MANSUS. 461 



written of Tasso. And now, with all these recollections of the past circling 

round him, the Marquis Manso, verging on eighty years of age, was living on 
at Naples, the most venerable man in the city, and indeed the most conspicuous 
private patron of Art and Literature in all Italy. In the society of Naples he 
was supreme. He had founded there a club or academy, called the Oziosi 
("The Idlers") of which he was president, and the meetings of which were 
held in his house; and there was another institution of his foundation, called 
the College Dei Nobili, the purpose of which was the education of the young 
Neapolitan nobles in manly arts and exercises. In the meetings of these insti- 
tutions the old nobleman would be gay as the youngest present, joining even 
in their froHcs. A certain high moral chivalry, however, for which he had 
been known from his youth, regulated his behaviour, and gave a dignity even 
to his humours in company. Also he was punctiliously scrupulous in matters 
of religion, and a most pious and orthodox son of the Church. 

Milton's introduction to Manso, as he tells us himself {Defertsio Sectinda), 
was through a certain Eremite Friar, who was his companion in his journey 
from Rome to Naples in November 1638. The Marquis appears to have taken 
a great liking to the young Englishman, and to have been particularly gracious 
to him. " As long as I staid at Naples," says Milton, " I found him truly most 
" friendly to me, he himself acting as my guide through the different parts 
" of the city and the palace of the Viceroy, and coming himself more than once 
"to my inn to visit me; and at my going away he seriously excused himself 
" to me in that, though he wished extremely to have shown me much greater 
" attention, he had not been able to do so in that city, because I would not be 
" more close in the matter of Religion." In the two Latin lines of compliment 
given by Manso to Milton, and included by Milton among the Testimonies 
prefixed to his Latin Poems, there is a hint at this Protestantism of Milton 
as the only fault he had in the old man's eyes. " Were but your creed like 
"your mind, form, grace, face, and morals, then you would not be Anglic 
" only, but, in faith, Angelic," says the old man, reviving in Milton's favour 
the play upon the words Anglus and Angehis attributed in the legend to Pope 
Gregory when he beheld the English youths in the Roman slave-market and 
grieved that such comely youths should be Pagans. But Milton carried away 
with him another token of Manso's regard. He describes distinctly in his 
Epitaphitvn Damonis (lines 181 — 197) two cups which Manso had given him 
as a keepsake, carved round or painted by Manso himself with two designs, 
the one of an oriental subject, the other of a subject from classic mythology. 

In return for Manso's distich and his cups, or possibly before receiving them, 
and in mere acknowledgment of Manso's great courtesy generally, Milton, 
before leaving Naples (Jan. 1638-9), sent to Manso the hundred hexameter 
lines now under notice. They are a very graceful acknowledgment indeed. 
There is one passage, of information and compliment finely blended, which 
may have told Manso more about the stranger than he already knew, and 
roused his curiosity. It is the passage beginning "C niihi si mea sors'" at line 
78, and containing the first published hint by Milton of his contemplated 
Arthurian Epic, or poem from British legendary History. The passage is 
worth reading, not only on this account, but also for its pathos and eloquence. 
Manso must have admired it, and may have thought of the young Englishman 
sometimes through the next few years, and wondered what he was doing in his 
native land. Much news of Milton, however, in Poetry at least, can hardly 



462 THE LATIN POEMS. 



have reached Manso before his death. He died at Naples, at the age of 
eighty-four, in 1645, the very year when Milton's first edition of his Poems 
was published. 

Epitaphium Damonis. 

In the Introductions to the Elegia Pri»ia and the Elegia Sexta, the story of 
Milton's friendship with the half-Italian youth Charles Diodati has been brought 
down to the end of the year 1629. Since then there had been no interruption 
of the friendship, but rather a strengthening of it by new ties as the two friends 
grew older. Two Latin letters of Milton to Diodati, both written in September 
1637, and now printed among Milton's Epistolte Eamiliares, are the best infor- 
mation we have as to the mutual position of the two friends at that date, when 
Milton was in his thirtieth year and Diodati had just passed that age. Diodati, 
it appears from those letters, had finished his medical education, and was in 
practice somewhere in the north of England; near Chester, it has been sup- 
posed, but that is only a guess from the fact that he had been in that neigh- 
bourhood in 1626, the date of the Elegia Prima. Milton, on the other hand, 
was mainly at Horton, but sometimes in London; whence, indeed, his two 
letters are written. They are full of gossip and affection. " How is it with 
you, pray? " asks Milton in the first, dated Sept. 2. " Are you in good health? 
'* Are there in those parts any learned folks or so with whom you can willingly 
"associate and chat, as we were wont, together? When do you return? How 
"long do you intend to dwell among those hyperboreans?" Again, in the 
second, dated Sept. 23, Diodati having replied in the meanwhile, and there 
having been the usual excuses on both sides for laziness in letter-writing: 
" Your probity writes with me in your stead and indites true letters on my 
"inmost heart; your blamelessness of morals writes to me, and your love of 
"the good; your genius also, by no means a common one, writes to me, and 
" commends you to me more and more. . . . Know that it is impossible 
"for me not to love men like you." There is added some talk about Milton's 
doings. He is thinking, he says, of taking chambers in London, in one of the 
Inns of Court, having begun to find Horton inconvenient. He has been en- 
gaged in a continuous course of historical reading, and has reached the mediae- 
val period. Could Diodati lend him the History of Venice by Justiniani? 
And what is Diodati doing? Is he crowing over his medical dignity? Is he 
troubling himself too much with family matters? Unless this step-motherly 
war is very bad indeed, worse than Dacian or Sarmatian, may not one hope to 
see him soon in winter quarters? (^AUsi belluni hoc novei'cale vel Dacico vel 
Sarmatico infestiiis sit, debebis profecto maiurare, ut ad nos salie?>i in hiberna 
concedas.') I can only construe this passage as implying that Diodati had 
recently received a step-mother, and was not much pleased with the acquisi- 
tion. 

Seven months after Milton had written these letters to Diodati, he went abroad 
on his Italian journey (April 1638). It is very possible that he and Diodati 
may have met in the interval, and talked over the intended tour. Diodati, as 
half an Italian, and acquainted with the Italian traditions and connexions of 
his family, may have had hints to give to Milton for his use abroad, or even 
letters of introduction. At all events, we find Milton, while abroad, thinking 
much of Diodati. He mentions expressly in his Defensio Seciinda that, in the 



EPITAPHIUM DAMONIS. 463 



second two months he spent at Florence (March and April 1639), he found 
time for an excursion of "a few days" to Lucca, about forty miles distant; 
and I suspect that his main motive in the excursion was to see the town 
whence the Diodati family had derived their origin. Then, again, in one of 
the Five Italian Love Sonnets, written, as is generally believed, in the north 
of Italy, towards the end of Milton's Itahan tour, we fmd Diodati directly 
addressed, and, as it were, taken, though absent, into his friend's confidence 
in the sudden love-incident that had befallen him (see Introd. to the Italian 
Sonnets). I feel sure that Milton talked of Diodati, his half-Italian friend at 
home, to the various groups of Italian wits and literati in the midst of whom 
he found himself in the different Italian cities he visited, and especially to his 
acquaintances of the Florentine group, Gaddi, Dati, Frescobaldi, Coltellini, 
Chimentelli, Francini, and others. It is not a matter of fancy, but of actual 
information by Milton himself, that, as he parted from these groups of new 
friends, and took his way at length back from Italy homewards, through 
Switzerland and France, it was with a kind of impatience to meet Diodati 
again, after so long an absence, so as to pour into his ear, in long sittings 
within-doors, or in walks together through English fields and country lanes, 
the connected story of all he had done and seen in the wondrous southern 
land of olives and myrtles, blue skies and soft winds, art and antiquities, 
poetry and beauty. 

All the more terrible was the shock that awaited Milton. His friend Diodati 
was no longer alive. He had died soon after Milton had left England. " Mr. 
Charles Deodate^ from Air. Dollani's^'' is his burial-entry, under date, August 
27, 1638, recently discovered by Colonel Chester, in the Registers of the parish 
of St. Anne, Blackfriars, London; where also, dated the tenth of the same 
month, there is this previous burial-entry — " Mrs. Philadelphia Dcodate,from 
Mr. Dollam'sy The inference is that, in consequence of the second marriage 
of old Dr. Theodore Diodati, young Charles and a sister of his had taken 
lodgings together at a Mr. Dollam's in Blackfriars, — in which district, Colonel 
Chester has found, their brother John was then residing, as a married man, — 
and that here, within seventeen days of each other, they had fallen victims to 
some epidemic. The rumour may have reached Milton on the Continent, if 
only at Geneva in June 1639; but not till he was back in England did he 
learn all the particulars. Whatever they were, they impressed him greatly. 
For some time he seems to have gone about, between London and Horton, 
thinking of Charles Diodati's death. His reminiscences of Italy and all the 
delights of his tour were saddened and spoiled to him by this one irremediable 
loss. His musings over it take poetic form, and in the late autumn of 1639, 
or in the winter of 1639-40, he writes his Epiiaphium Damonis. 

The poem is, beyond all question, the finest, the deepest in feeling, of all 
that Milton has left us in Latin, and one of the most interesting of all his 
poems, whether Latin or English. It is purely the accident of its being in 
Latin that has prevented it from being as well known as Lycidas, and that 
has transferred to the subject of that English pastoral, Edward King of 
Christ's College, Cambridge, the honour of being remembered and spoken 
of as the pre-eminent friend of Milton's youth and early manhood. Not 
Lycidas but Damon, not the Irish-born Edward King, but the half-Italian 
Charles Diodati, was Milton's dearest, most intimate, most peculiar friend. 
The records prove this irresistibly, and a careful perusal of the two poems 



464 THE LATIN POEMS. 



will add to the impression. Whoever will read the Latin Epitaphium Damonis 
will perceive in it a passionateness of personal grief, an evidence of bursts of 
tears and sobbings interrupting the act of writing, to which there is nothing 
equivalent in the English Lycidas, affectionate and exquisitely beautiful as that 
poem is. Yet the two poems are, in a sense, companions, and ought to be 
recollected in connexion. Both are pastorals; in both the form is that of a 
surviving shepherd bewailing the death of a dear fellow-shepherd. In the one 
case the dead shepherd is named Lycidas, while the surviving shepherd who 
mourns him is left unnamed, and only seen at the end as the " uncouth swain " 
who has been singing; in the other the dead shepherd is named Damon, and 
Milton, under the name of Thyrsis, is avowedly the shepherd who laments him. 
The reader may here refer to what has been said, in the Introduction to Lycidas^ 
concerning the Pastoral form of Poetry and the objections that have been 
taken to it. What was said there in defence of the Pastoral form applies 
especially to the EpiiapJiititn Dajiionis ; for it is a pastoral of the most arti- 
ficial variety. It is in Latin; and this, in itself, removes it into the realm of 
the artificial. But, in the Latin, the precedents of the Greek pastoralists, 
Theocritus, Bion, and Moschus, as well as of the Latin Virgil, have been 
studied, and every device of classic pastoralism has been imitated. There are 
the sheep, the kids, the reeden flutes, the pastures, the shepherds and 
shepherdesses wondering at the mourner and coming round him to comfort 
him. The measure used is the Virgilian Hexameter, and the poem is broken 
into musical parts or bursts by a recurring phrase as in some of the Greek 
Idylls; the names used for the shepherds and shepherdesses are from the 
Greek Idyllists or from Virgil; the very title of the poem is an echo of that of 
the third Idyll of Moschus, Epitaphhim Bionis. All the more strange, to 
those whose notion of the Pastoral has not gone beyond Dr. Johnson's in his 
criticism of Lycidas^ may seem the assertion that in this Latin pastoral, the 
Epitaphii{fn Damonis, the pastoralism of which is more subtle and artificial 
in every point than that of the corresponding English poem, Milton will be 
found, undeniably, and with an earnestness which breaks through the assumed 
guise and thrills the nerves of the reader, speaking his own heart. For my 
own part, I risk the assertion and will leave the verification to the reader. 
To the reader also I will leave the pleasure of finding out what is interesting 
in this extraordinary poem. Only let him rest a little, for special reasons, 
over the memorable passage beginning *^Ipse etiain " (line 155) and extending 
to " Orcades imdis'''' (line 178). That passage is an important shred of 
Milton's autol)iography. It tells, more minutely, and in a more emphatic 
manner, what he had already hinted in his Latin poem to Manso, viz. : that 
at this period of his life his thoughts were full of the project of an Epic poem 
founded on British legendary History, and especially on the subject of King 
Arthur. Combined with this glimpse of what was shaping itself in Milton's 
mind at that time (1639-40) is the farther information that he had then also 
resolved to give up Latin for the purposes of poetry, and to confine himself to 
English. 



Ad Joannem Rousium, 

oxoniensis academi/e bibliothecarium. 

Jamiary 23, 1646-7. 

John Rous, M.A. and Fellow of Oriel College, was elected Chief Librarian 
of the Bodleian May 9, 1620, and he remained- in that post till his death in 
April 1652. Milton may have become acquainted with him in some visit to 
Oxford during the Cambridge period of his life, or, at all events, in 1635, 
when, as a Cambridge M.A. of three years' standing, he was incorporated, in 
the same degree, at Oxford. It is almost certain that " our common friend 
Mr. R." mentioned by Sir Henry Wotton in his letter to Milton of April 13, 
1638, as having sent to Wotton a copy of Lawes's anonymous edition of 
Comus of the previous year, bound up with a volume of inferior poetry printed 
at Oxford, was this John Rous, the Oxford Librarian. In any case, Milton 
had come to know Rous. Who in those days could avoid doing so that had 
dealings with books, and was drawn to the sight of such a collection of books 
as that in the great Bodleian? It may have been a recommendation of Rous 
in Milton's eyes that, Oxonian though he was, his sympathies were decidedly 
Parliamentarian. Possibly he was a relative of P^ancis Rous, the Puritan 
member of the Long Parliament for Truro. 

Milton, at Rous's request, had sent him, for the Bodleian, in 1646, a set of 
his published writings complete to that date : to wit, his eleven Prose- 
pamphlets of 1 64 1 -4 (the five on the Episcopacy question, the four on 
Divorce, the Areopagitica, and the tract on Education) ; and, separately 
bound, the edition of his Poems in English and Latin published by Moseley 
in the end of 1645. Of these, however, only the Prose-pamphlets had 
reached their destination; the Poems had been lost or stolen on their way to 
Oxford, or had otherwise gone astray. Rous, accordingly, both in his own 
behalf and in the interest of the Library, begs for another copy, to make the 
set of Milton's writings complete, as had been intended. Milton complies 
with the request, and sends a second copy of the Poems. But, amused by the 
incident of the loss of the first, he composes a Latin Ode on the subject; and 
a transcript of this Ode, carefully written out on a sheet of paper by himself, 
or some one else, in an Italian hand, he causes to be inserted in the second 
copy, between the English and the Latin contents of the volume. Accordingly, 
there are now in the Bodleian tzvo volumes of Milton's writings, his own gift 
to the Library. One is the volume of the eleven collected Prose-pamphlets, 
with an inscription m Milton's undoubted autograph; the other is the supple- 
mentary volume of his Poems, sent to Rous, " iit cum aliis nostris repoiieret'''' 
(" that he might replace it beside our other things"), and containing the Ode 
to Rous in an inserted sheet of MS., generally supposed to be also Milton's 
autograph, in an unusual form of laboured elegance, but probably, I think, a 
transcript by some calligraphist whom he employed. 

The Ode is a curious one, in respect of both its form and its matter. — The 
form, as Milton takes care to explain in a note (appended in his edition, 
though now more conveniently prefixed), is peculiarly arbitrary. It is a kind 
of experiment in Latin, after few classical precedents in that language, of the 
mixed verse, or verse of various metres, common in the Greek choral odes. 



466 THE LATIN POEMS. 



Even within that range Milton has taken liberties at the bidding of his own 
ear, paying regard, as he says, rather to facility of reading than to ancient 
rule. Altogether, the experiment was very daring. — The matter of the Ode is 
simple enough. It is addressed not directly to Rous, but to the little volume 
itself. The double contents of the volume, Latin and English, are spoken of 
in modest terms; the loss of the first copy, mysteriously abstracted from the 
bundle of its brothers, when they were on their way from London to Oxford, 
is playfully mentioned, with wonder what had become of it and into what 
rough hands it may have fallen; Rous's friendly interest, both in having 
repeatedly applied at first for the whole set of writings and in having applied 
again for the missing volume, is acknowledged; and there are the due 
applauses of Oxford and her great Library. In this last connexion there is an 
amplification of what had been hinted in the inscription in the volume of the 
Prose-pamphlets. The time would come, he had there hoped, when even 
his Prose-pamphlets, now procuring him nothing but ill-will and calumny, 
might be better appreciated. This hope he now repeats more strongly with 
reference to his Poems. The following is Cowper's translation of the Epode, 
or closing strain : — 

*' Ye, then, my works, no longer vain 
And worthless deemed by me, 
Whate'er this sterile genius has produced, 
Expect at last, the rage of envy spent, 

An unmolested, happy home, 
Gift of kind Hermes, and my watchful friend, 
Where never flippant tongue profane 
Shall entrance find, 
And whence the coarse unlettered multitude 
Shall babble far remote. 
Perhaps some future distant age, 
Less tinged with prejudice, and better taught 
Shall furnish minds of power 
To judge more equally. 
Then, malice silenced in the tomb, 
Cooler heads and sounder hearts, 
Thanks to Rous, if aught of praise 
I merit, shall with candour weigh the claim." 



Epigrams on Salmasius. 

Salmasius is a great name in the Biography of Milton. The person called 
by it, according to the custom, then common in the scholarly world of Europe, 
of Latinizing the names of its important members, was Claude de Saumaise, 
a Frenchman, born in 1588, and therefore Milton's senior by about twenty 
years. From his earliest youth he had been a prodigious reader; and by a 
series of publications, partly in France and partly in Germany, some against 
the Papal power, but others more purely historical and antiquarian, he had 
acquired the fame of being perhaps the most learned European scholar of his 
generation. Princes and States contended for the honour of possessing and 
pensioning him; but, after various travels, he had taken up his residence 
chiefly at Leyden, in Holland. Thus brought into contact with Charles II. 
and the English Royalist exiles after the execution of Charles I., he had been 
employed or induced, in an evil hour for himself, to write a defence of the late 
King and an attack on the English Commonwealth. It appeared in Holland 



EPIGRAMS ON SALMASIUS. 467 



in 1649, under the title of Definsio Regia pro Caj-olo I. A book of the kind 
by a man of his fame was felt in England to be a serious matter; and Milton, 
then Latin Secretary to the Council of State, was requested to answer it. 
He did so in his famous Defensio pro Popido Anglicano contra Claiidii Sal- 
masii Defensionem Regiam, published in the end of 1650, or beginning of 165 1. 
Soon all Europe rang from side to side with the power of this pamphlet; and 
the legend is that Salmasius, who had recently gone to reside at the Court of 
Sweden on the pressing invitation of the eccentric Queen Christina, was so 
chagrined at the applause with which the pamphlet was everywhere received, 
and especially by Christina's consequent coldness to himself, that he soon 
afterwards died. He did quit Sweden, and return to Holland, where he died 
Sept. 3, 1653, leaving an unfinished reply to Milton, and the task of con- 
tinuing the controversy to other persons. Among these was the Gallo-Scot, 
Alexander More or Morus, already mentioned in the Introduction to the brief 
epigram De Moro among the Latin Elegies. Milton's Defensio Secunda pro 
Poptdo Anglicano, published in 1654, was in reply to a treatise of the same 
year, which More was supposed to have written, but which he had only seen 
through the press, entitled Regii Sangtnnis Clamor adversus Parricidas 
Anglicanos. In this " Second Defence," though More was the person directly 
attacked, Milton went back upon his dead opponent Salmasius. Hence, while 
the first of the two Epigrams against Salmasius now under notice is from the 
original pamphlet against the living Salmasius (called now, generally, the 
Defensio Prima), the second is from the Defensio Secunda, in which More 
receives the direct attack and Salmasius is only recollected for posthumous 
chastisement. 

In Salmasii Hundredam. — This Epigram occurs in the 8th chapter of 
the Defensio Prima, and is a rough jest against Salmasius for his parade of 
his knowledge of a few English law-terms, or terms of public custom, such as 
"County Court," and "Hundred" or " Hundreda," in the sense of a division 
of a shire or an aggregation of parishes. " Where did Salmasius, that magpie, 
get his scraps of bad English, and especially his Hundreda ? " asks the 
Epigram. " Why, he got a hundred Jacobuses, the last in the pouch of the 
"poor exiled King, for writing his pamphlet! The prospect of more cash 
"would make him write up the very Pope, and sing the Song of the Cardinals, 
" though he once demonstrated the Papacy to be Antichrist." Such is the 
substance of the Epigram; a poor thing after all, and a mere momentary 
parody of the last seven lines of the Prologue to the Satires of Persius. 

In Salmasium. — This is from the Defensio Secunda, where it is introduced 
in a passage in reply to an immense eulogy on Salmasius occurring in the 
Sanguinis Clamor. The writer of that book, assumed by Milton to be A.lex- 
ander More, had anticipated the tremendous castigation that would be given 
to Milton in the forthcoming "impression" of the Answer to the Defensio 
Prifna that had been written by the divine Salmasius himself, that prodigy 
of erudition and of genius. Milton professes to be very easy under the 
expectation of this posthumous reply, which he knew Salmasius had been 
busy with at the time of his death. People know that he has his own opinion 
of the genius and erudition of the famous deceased! "You, therefore, it 
" seems," he says, addressing More, " are Hke the little client-fish in advance 
" of Whale Salmasius, who is threatening ' impressions ' on these shores : we 
" are sharpening our irons so as to be ready to squeeze out whatever may be 



468 THE LATIN POEMS, 



" in the ' impressions ' and * castigations,' whether of oil or pickle. Meanwhile 
*' we shall admire the more than Pythagorean goodness of the great man, who, 
" in his pity for the animals, and especially for the fishes, which are not spared 
" even in Lent, poor things, has provided so many volumes for decently 
" wrapping them up in, and has bequeathed by will, I may say, to so many 
"thousands of poor sprats and herrings paper coats individually." After this 
ponderous piece of Latin prose-fun comes the Epigram. It simply prolongs 
the joke, in verse which is a cross between Catullus and Martial, by calling on 
all the herrings and other fishes to rejoice in their prospect of abundant 
paper wrappages from the books of Salmasius. 



POEMS: 
ENGLISH AND LATIN, 

WITH A FEW IN ITALIAN AND GREEK. 
COMPOSED AT SEVERAL TIMES. 



POEMS, ENGLISH AND LATIN, etc. 



The title-pages of the two original Editions, of 1645 and 1673, have been given in the General 
Introduction (p. 393 and p. 394). The Second Editic ' ' "" '" '^ ' ^^- ^= --'---' 

the following, by the publisher, Humphrey Moseley: 



"The Stationer to the Reader. 

"It is not any private respect of gain, Gentle Reader (for the slightest 
Pamphlet is nowadays more vendible than the works of learnedest men), but 
it is the love I have to our own Language, that hath made me diligent to 
collect and set forth such Pieces, both in Prose and Verse, as may renew the 
wonted honour and esteem of our English tongue; and it's the worth of these 
both Enghsh and Latin Poems, not the flourish of any prefixed encomions, 
that can invite thee to buy them — though these are not without the highest 
commendations and applause of the learnedest Academicks, both domestic 
and foreign, and, amongst those of our own country, the unparalleled attesta- 
tion of that renowned Provost of Eton, Sir Henry Wootton. I know not 
thy palate, how it rehshes such dainties, nor how harmonious thy soul is: 
perhaps more trivial Airs may please thee better. But, howsoever thy opinion 
is spent upon these, that encouragement I have already received from the 
most ingenious men, in their clear and courteous entertainment of Mr. 
Waller's late choice Pieces, hath once more made me adventure into the 
world, presenting it with these ever-green and not to be blasted laurels. The 
Author's more peculiar excellency in these studies was too well known to 
conceal his Papers, or to keep me from attempting to solicit them from him. 
Let the event guide itself which way it will, I shall deserve of the age by 
bringing into the light as true a birth as the Muses have brought forth since 
our famous Spenser wrote; whose Poems in these English ones are as rarely 
imitated as sweetly excelled. Reader, if thou art eagle-eyed to censure their 
worth, I am not fearful to expose them to thy exactest perusal. 

"Thine to command, 

"Humph, Moseley." 



ENGLISH POEMS. 

A PARAPHRASE ON PSALM CXIV. 

This and the following Psalm were done by the Author at fifteen years old. 

When the blest seed of Terah's faithful son 

After long toil their liberty had won, 

And passed from Pharian fields to Canaan-land^ 

Led by the strength of the Almighty's hand, 

Jehovah's wonders were in Israel shown. 

His praise and glory was in Israel known. 

That saw the troubled sea, and shivering fled, 

And sought to hide his froth-becurled head 

Low in the earth ; Jordan's clear streams recoil, 

As a faint host that hath received the foil. lo 

The high huge-bellied mountains skip like rams 

Amongst their ewes, the little hills like lambs. 

Why fled the ocean? and why skipped the mountains? 

Why turned Jordan toward his crystal fountains? 

Shake, Earth, and at the presence be aghast 

Of Him that ever was and aye shall last. 

That glassy floods from rugged rocks can cmsh, 

And make soft rills from fiery flint-stones gush. 



PSALM CXXXVI. 

Let us with a gladsome mind 
Praise the Lord, for he is kind ; 

For his mercies aye endure, 

Ever faithful, ever sure. 

471 



PSALM CXXXVI. PARAPHRASED. 



Let us blaze his name abroad, 
For of gods he is the God ; 
For hisj &c. 

O let us his praises tell, 

Who doth the wrathful tyrants quell ; lo 

For his, &c. 



Who with his miracles doth make 
Amazed heaven and earth to shake ; 
For his, &c. 

Who by his wisdom did create 

The painted heavens so full of state ; 

For his, &c. 19 

Who did the solid earth ordain 
To rise above the watery plain ; 
For his, &c. 

Who, by his all-commanding might, 
Did fill the new-made world with light ; 
For his, &c. 

And caused the golden-tressed sun 

All the day long his course to run ; 30 

For his, &c. 

The horned moon to shine by night 
Amongst her spangled sisters bright ; 
For his, &c. 

He, with his thunder-clasping hand. 
Smote the first-born of Egypt land ; 

For his, &c. 39 

And, in despite of Pharao fell, 
He brought from thence his Israel ; 
For his, &c. 

The ruddy waves he cleft in twain 
Of the Erythraean main ; 
For his, &;c. 



PSALM CXXXVI. PARAPHRASED. 473 

The floods stood still, like walls of glass, 
While the Hebrew bands did pass ; 50 

For his, &c. 

But full soon they did devour 
The tawny king with all his power; 
For his, &c. 



59 



His chosen people he did bless 
In the wasteful wilderness ; 
For his, &c. 

In bloody battle he brought down 
Kings of prowess and renown; 
For his, &c. 

He foiled bold Seon and his host, 
That ruled the Amorrean coast ; 
For his, &c. 

And large-limbed Og he did subdue, 
With all his over-hardy crew ; 70 

For his, &c. 

And to his servant Israel 
He gave their land, therein to dwell ; 
For his, &c. 

He hath, with a piteous eye. 
Beheld us in our misery ; 

For his, &c. 79 

And freed us from the slavery 
Of the invading enemy ; 
For his, &c. 

All living creatures he doth feed, 
And with full hand supplies their need; 
For his, &c. 

Let us, therefore, warble forth 

His mighty majesty and worth ; 90 

For his, &c. 

That his mansion hath on high, 
Above the reach of mortal eye ; 

For his mercies aye endure, 

~~ ' ' ever sure. 



474 ON THE DEATH OF A FAIR INFANT. 



ON THE DEATH OF A FAIR INFANT DYING OF A 
COUGH. 

Anno cetatis 17. 



O FAIREST flower, no sooner blown but blasted, 
Soft silken primrose fading timelessly, 
Summer's chief honour, if thou hadst outlasted 
Bleak Winter's force that made thy blossom dry ; 
For he, being amorous on that lovely dye 

That did thy cheek envermeil, thought to kiss, 
But killed, alas ! and then bewailed his fatal bliss. 



For, since grim Aquilo, his charioteer, 

By boisterous rape the Athenian damsel got, 

He thought it touched his deity full near, 10 

If likewise he some fair one wedded not, 

Thereby to wipe away the infdmous blot 

Of long uncoupled bed and childless eld, 
Which 'mongst the wanton gods a foul reproach was held. 

III. 

So, mounting up in icy-pearled car, 
Through middle empire of the freezing air 
He wandered long, till thee he spied from far; 
There ended was his quest, there ceased his care : 
Down he descended from his sn®w-soft chair, 

But, all unwares, with his cold-kind embrace, 20 

Unhoused thy virgin soul from her fair biding-place. 

IV. 

Yet art thou not inglorious in thy fate ; 
I For so Apollo, with unweeting hand, 

I Whilom did slay his dearly-loved mate, 

\ Young Hyacinth, born on Eurotas' strand, 

Young Hyacinth, the pride of Spartan land; 
But then transformed him to a purple flower : 

Alack, that so to change thee Winter had no power! 



ON THE DEATH OF A FAIR INFANT. 475 



Yet can I not persuade me thou art dead, 

Or that thy corse corrupts in earth's dark womb, 30 

Or that thy beauties lie in wormy bed 
Hid from the world in a low-delved tomb ; 
Could Heaven, for pity, thee so strictly doom? 
Oh no! for something in thy face did shine 
Above mortality, that showed thou wast divine. 

VI. 

Resolve me, then, O Soul most surely blest 

(If so it be that thou these plaints dost hear) ! 

Tell me, bright Spirit, where'er thou hoverest, 

Whether above that high first-moving sphere, 

Or in the Elysian fields (if such there were), 40 

Oh, say me true if thou wert mortal wight. 
And why from us so quickly thou didst take thy flight. 



Wert thou some star, which from the ruined roof 
Of shaked Olympus by mischance didst fall ; 
Which careful Jove in nature's true behoof 
Took up, and in fit place did reinstal? 
Or did of late Earth's sons besiege the wall 

Of sheeny Heaven, and thou some goddess fled 
Amongst us here below to hide thy nectared head? 

VIII. 

Or wert thou that just Maid who once before 50 

Forsook the hated earth, oh ! tell me sooth. 

And camest again to visit us once more? 

Or wert thou [Mercy], that sweet smiling Youth? 

Or that crowned Matron, sage white-robed Truth? 

Or any other of that heavenly brood 
Let down in cloudy throne to do the world some good? 

IX. 

Or wert thou of the golden-winged host, 

Who, having clad thyself in human weed, 

To earth from thy prefixed seat didst post. 

And after short abode fly back with speed, 60 

As if to show what creatures Heaven doth breed ; 

Thereby to set the hearts of men on fire 
To scorn the sordid world, and unto Heaven aspire? 



476 AT A VACATION EXERCISE. 



X. 

But oh ! why didst thou not stay here below 
To bless us with thy heaven-loved innocence, 
To slake his wrath whom sin hath made our foe, 
To turn swift-rushing black perdition hence, 
Or drive away the slaughtering pestilence, 

To stand 'twixt us and our deserved smart? 
But thou canst best perform that office where thou art. 70 

XI. 

Then thou, the mother of so sweet a child, 
Her false-imagined loss cease to lament. 
And wisely learn to curb thy sorrows wild ; 
Think what a present thou to God hast sent, 
And render him with patience what he lent : 

This if thou do, he will an offspring give 
That till the world's last end shall make thy name to live. 



AT A VACATION EXERCISE IN THE COLLEGE, PART 
LATIN, PART ENGLISH. 

Anno cetatis 19. 

The Latin Speeches ended, the English thus began : — 

Hail, Native Language, that by sinews weak 

Didst move my first endeavouring tongue to speak, 

And mad'st imperfect words with childish trips. 

Half unpronounced, slide through my infant lips, 

Driving dumb Silence from the portal door. 

Where he had mutely sat two years before : 

Here I salute thee, and thy pardon ask 

That now I use thee in my latter task ! 

Small loss it is that thence can come unto thee ; 

I know my tongue but little grace can do thee. 10 

Thou need'st not be ambitious to be first ; 

Believe me, I have thither packed the worst : 

And, if it happen as I did forecast. 

The daintiest dishes shall be served up last. 

I pray thee then deny me not thy aid. 

For this same small neglect that I have made ; 

But haste thee straight to do me once a pleasure. 

And from thy wardrobe bring thy chiefest treasure ; 



AT A VACATION EXERCISE. 477 



Not those new-fangled toy; 

Which takes our late fantastics with delight ; . 20 

But cull those richest robes and gayest attire, 

Which deepest spirits and choicest wits desire. 

I have some naked thoughts that rove about, 

And loudly knock to have their passage out, 

And, weary of their place, do only stay 

Till thou hast decked them in thy best array; 

That so they may, without suspect or fears, 

Fly swiftly to this fair assembly's ears. 

Yet I had rather, if I were to choose. 

Thy service in some graver subject use, 30 

Such as may make thee search thy coffers round. 

Before thou clothe my fancy in fit sound : 

Such where the deep transported mind may soar 

Above the wheeling poles, and at Heaven's door 

Look in, and see each blissful deity 

How he before the thunderous throne doth lie, 

Listening to what unshorn Apollo sings 

To the touch of golden wires, while Hebe brings 

Immortal nectar to her kingly sire ; 

Then, passing through the spheres of watchful fire, 40 

And misty regions of wide air next under, 

And hills of snow and lofts of piled thunder. 

May tell at length how green-eyed Neptune raves, 

In heaven's defiance mustering all his waves ; 

Then sing of secret things that came to pass 

When beldam Nature in her cradle was; 

And last of kings and queens and heroes old, 

Such as the wise Demodocus once told 

In solemn songs at king Alcinous' feast. 

While sad Ulysses' soul and all the rest 50 

Are held, with his melodious harmony. 

In willing chains and sweet captivity. 

But fie, my wandering Muse, how thou dost stray! 

Expectance calls thee now another way. 

Thou know'st it must be now thy only bent 

To keep in compass of thy Predicament. 

Then quick about thy purposed business come, 

That to the next I may resign my room. 

Then Ens is represented as Father of the Predicaments, his ten Sons ; 
whereof the eldest stood for Substance with his Canons ; which 
Ens, thus speaking, explains : — 

Good luck befriend thee, Son ; for at thy birth 

The faery ladies danced upon the hearth. 60 



478 AT A VACATION EXERCISE. 

The drowsy nurse hath sworn she did them spy 

Cotae tripping to the room where thou didst lie, 

And, sweetly singing round about thy bed, 

Strew all their blessings on thy sleeping head. 

She heard them give thee this, that thou shouldst still 

From eyes of mortals walk invisible. 

Yet there is something that doth force my fear; 

For once it was my dismal hap to hear 

A sibyl old, bow-bent with crooked age, 

That far events full wisely could presage, 70 

And, in Time's long and dark prospective-glass, 

Foresaw what future days should bring to pass. 

"Your son," said she, "(nor can you it prevent,) 

Shall subject be to many an Accident. 

O'er all his brethren he shall reign as king ; 

Yet every one shall make him underling, 

And those that cannot live from him asunder 

Ungratefully shall strive to keep him under. 

In worth and excellence he shall outgo them; 

Yet, being above them, he shall be below them. 80 

From others he shall stand in need of nothing, 

Yet on his brothers shall depend for clothing. 

To find a foe it shall not be his hap, 

And peace shall lull him in her flowery lap; 

Yet shall he live in strife, and at his door 

Devouring war shall never cease to roar ; 

Yea, it shall be his natural property 

To harbour those that are at enmity." 

What power, what force, what mighty spell, if not 

Your learned hands, can loose this Gordian knot? 90 



The next, Quantity and Quality, spake in prose: then Relation 
was called by his name. 

Rivers, arise : whether thou be the son 

Of utmost Tweed, or Ouse, or gulfy Dun, 

Or Trent, who, like some earth-born giant, spreads 

His thirty arms along the indented meads, 

Or sullen Mole, that runneth underneath, 

Or Severn swift, gviilty of maiden's death, 

Or rocky Avon, or of sedgy Lea, 

Or coaly Tyne, or ancient hallowed Dee, 

Or Humber loud, that keeps the Scythian's name, 

Or Medway smooth, or royal-towered Thame. 100 



The rest was p?'ose. 



ON THE NATIVITY. 479 

ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S NATIVITY. 

Composed 1629. 
I. 

This is the month, and this the happy morn, 
Wherein the Son of Heaven's eternal King, 
Of wedded maid and virgin mother born, 
Our great redemption from above did bring; 
[ For so the holy sages once did sing, | 

That he our deadly forfeit should release, 
And with his Father work us a perpetual peace. 



That glorious form, that Hght unsufferable. 
And that far-beaming blaze of majesty. 

Wherewith he wont at Heaven's high council-table 10 

To sit the midst of Trinal Unity, ( — 
He laid aside, and, here with us to be. 
Forsook the courts of everlasting day, 
And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay. I 



III. 

Say, Heavenly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein 

Afford a present to the Infant God? 

Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain, 

To welcome him to this his new abode, 

Now while the heaven, by the Sun's team untrod. 

Hath took no print of the approaching light, 
And all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons bright! 



IV. 

See how from far upon the eastern road 
The star-led wizards haste with odours sweet ! 
Oh ! nm ; prevent them with thy humble ode, 
And lay it lowly at his blessed feet ; 
Have thou the honour first thy Lord to greet, 

And join thy voice unto the Angel Quire, 
From out his secret altar touched with hallowed fire. 



48o ON THE NATIVITY 



The Hymn. 



^ It was the winter wild, 

While the heaven-born child 30 

All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies ; 
Nature, in awe to him, 
Had doffed her gaudy trim. 
With her great Master so to sympathize : 
It was no season then for her 
To wanton with the Sun, her lusty paramour. 



II. 

Only with speeches fair 
She woos the gentle air 
To hide her guilty front with innocent snow, 

And on her naked shame, 40 

Pollute with sinful blame, 
The saintly veil of maiden white to throw ; 
Confounded, that her Maker's eyes 
Should look so near upon her foul deformities.^ 



III. 

\ But he, her fears to cease, 

Sent down the meek-eyed Peace : 
She, crowned with olive green, came softly sliding 
Down through the turning sphere, 
His ready harbinger. 
With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing ; 50 

And, waving wide her myrtle wand. 
She strikes a universal peace through sea and land. ] 



IV. 

No war, or battle's sound. 
Was heard the world around; 
The idle spear and shield were high uphung; 
The hooked chariot stood, 
Unstained with hostile blood; 
The trimipet spake not to the armed throng; 
And kings sat still with awful eye, 
As if they surely knew their sovran Lord was by. ., 60 



ON THE NATIVITY. 



V. 

But peaceful was the night 
Wherein the Prince of Light 
His reign of peace upon the earth began. 
The winds, with wonder whist, 
Smoothly the waters kissed, 
Whispering new joys to the mild Ocean, 
Who now hath quite forgot to rave, 
While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave. 



VI. 

The stars, with deep amaze, 

Stand fixed in steadfast gaze, ^o 

Bending one way their precious influence, 
And will not take their flight. 
For all the morning light, 
Or Lucifer that often warned them thence ; 
But in their glimmering orbs did glow, 
Until their Lord himself bespake, and bid them go. 



VII. 

And, though the shady gloom 
Had given day her room. 
The Sun himself withheld his wonted speed, 

And hid his head for shame, 80 

As his inferior flame 
The new-enlightened world no more should need : 
He saw a greater Sun appear 
Than his bright throne or burning axletree could bear. 



VIII. 

The shepherds on the lawn, 
Or ere the point of dawn. 
Sat simply chatting in a rustic row; 
Full little thought they than 
That the mighty Pan 
Was kindly come to live with them below: 90 

Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep, 
Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy keep. 



482 ON THE NATIVITY. 



IX. 

When such music sweet 
Their hearts and ears did greet 
As never was by mortal finger strook, 
Divinely-warbled voice 
Answering the stringed noise, 
As all their souls in blissful rapture took : 
The air, such pleasure loth to lose, 99 

With thousand echoes still prolongs each heavenly close. 



Nature, that heard such sound 
Beneath the hollow round 
Of Cynthia's seat the Airy region thrilling, 
Now was almost won 
To think her part was done, 
And that her reign had here its last fulfilling : 
She knew such harmony alone 
Could hold all Heaven and Earth in happier union. 



XI. 

At last surrounds their sight 
A globe of circular light. 
That with long beams the shamefaced Night arrayed ; 
The helmed cherubim 
And sworded seraphim 
Are seen in glittering ranks with wings displayed. 
Harping in loud and solemn quire. 
With unexpressive notes, to Heaven's new-born Heir. 



XII. 

Such music (as 'tis said) 
Before was never made. 
But when of old the Sons of Morning sung, 
While the Creator great 
His constellations set, 
And the well-balanced World on hinges hung. 
And cast the dark foundations deep. 
And bid the weltering waves their oozy channel keep. 



ON THE NATIVITY. 483 



XIII. 

Riiij, out, ye crystal spheres ! 
Once bless our human ears, 
If ye have power to touch our senses so ; 
And let your silver chime 
Move in melodious time ; 
And let the bass of heaven's deep organ blow; 130 

And with your ninefold harmony 
Make up full consort to the angelic symphony. 



XIV 

' For, if such holy song 
Enwrap our fancy long, 
Time will run back and fetch the Age of Gold ; 
And speckled Vanity 
Will sicken soon and die, 
And leprous Sin will melt from earthly mould ; 
And Hell itself will pass away, 
And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day. 140 



XV. 

Yea, Truth and Justice then 
Will down return to men. 
Orbed in a rainbow ; and, like glories wearing, 
Mercy will sit between, 
Throned in celestial sheen, 
/"ith radiant feet the tissued 
And Heaven, as at some festival, 
Will open wide the gates of her high palace-hall, y 



XVI. 

But wisest Fate says No, 

This must not yet be so; 15° 

The Babe yet lies in smiling infancy 
That on the bitter cross 
Must redeem our loss, 
So both himself and us to glorify : 
Yet first, to those ychained in sleep. 
The wakeful trump of doom must thunder through the deep. 



484 ON THE NATIVITY. 



XVII. 

With such a horrid clang 
As on Mount Sinai rang, 
While the red fire and smouldering clouds outbrake : 

The aged Earth, aghast 160 

With terror of that blast, 
Shall from the surface to the centre shake. 
When, at the world's last session. 
The dreadful Judge in middle air shall spread his throne. 



XVIII. 

And then at last our bliss 
Full and perfect is, 
But now begins ; for from this happy day 
The Old Dragon under ground, 
In straiter limits bound, 
Not half so far casts his usurped sway, 1 70 

And, wroth to see his kingdom fail, 
Swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail. 



XIX. 

The Oracles are dumb ; 
No voice or hideous hum 
Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. 
Apollo from his shrine 
Can no more divine. 
With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving. 
No nightly trance, or breathed spell, 
Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell. 180 



The lonely mountains o'er, 
And the resounding shore, 
A voice of weeping heard and loud lament ; 
From haunted spring, and dale 
Edged with poplar pale. 
The parting Genius is with sighing sent ; 
With flower-inwoven tresses torn 
The Nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn. 



ON THE NATIVnV. 4S5 



In consecrated earth, 

And on the holy hearth, igo 

The Lars and Lemures moan with midnight plaint ; 
In urns, and altars round, 
A drear and dying sound 
Affrights the flamens at their service quaint ; 
And the chill marble seems to sweat, 
While each peculiar power forgoes his wonted seat. 



XXII. 

Peor and Baalim 
Forsake their temples dim, 
With that twice-battered god of Palestine; 

And mooned Ashtaroth, 200 

Heaven's queen and mother both. 
Now sits not girt with tapers' holy shine : 
The Lybic Hammon shrinks his horn ; 
In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz mourn.' 



And sullen Moloch, fled, 
Hath left in shadows dread 
His burning idol all of blackest hue ; 
In vain with cymbals' ring 
They call the grisly king. 
In dismal dance about the furnace blue; 
The brutish gods of Nile as fast, 
Isis, and Orus, and the dog Anubis, haste. 



XXIV. 

Nor is Osiris seen 
In Memphian grove or green. 
Trampling the unshowered grass with lowings loud ; 
Nor can he be at rest 
Within his sacred chest ; 
Nought but profoundest Hell can be his shroud ; 
In vain, with timbreled anthems dark. 
The sable-stoled sorcerers bear his worshiped ark. 



V 



486 UPON THE CIRCUMCISION. 



XXV. 

He feels from Jucla's land 
The dreaded Infant's hand ; 
The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn ; 
Nor all the gods beside 
Longer dare abide, 
Not Typhon huge ending in snaky twine : 
Our Babe, to show his Godhead true, 
Can in his swaddling bands control the damned crew. 



XXVI. 

So, when the sun in bed, 

Curtained with cloudy red, 230" 

Pillows his chin upon an orient wave, 
The flocking shadows pale 
Troop to the infernal jail, 
Each fettered ghost slips to his several grave, 
And the yellow-skirted fays 
Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-loved maze. 



But see! the Virgin blest 
Hath laid her Babe to rest. 
Time is our tedious song should here have ending : 

Heaven's youngest-teemed star 240 

Hath fixed her polished car, 
Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attending; 
And all about the courtly stable 
Bright-harnessed Angels sit in order serviceable. 



UPON THE CIRCUMCISION. 

Ye flaming Powers, and winged Warriors bright, 
That erst with music, and triumphant song, 
First heard by happy watchful shepherds' ear. 
So sweetly sung your joy the clouds along. 
Through the soft silence of the listening night, 
Now mourn ; and, if sad share with us to bear 
Your fiery essence can distil no tear, 



THE PASSION. 487 



Burn in your sighs, and borrow 
Seas wept from our deep sorrow. 

He who with all Heaven's heraldry whilere 10 

Entered the world now bleeds to give us ease. 
Alas ! how soon our sin 
Sore doth begin 

His infancy to seize! 

O more exceeding love, or law more just? 

Just law, indeed, but more exceeding love! 

For we, by rightful doom remediless, 

Were lost in death, till he, that dwelt above 

High-throned in secret bliss, for us frail dust 

Emptied his glory, even to nakedness ; 20 

And that great covenant which we still transgress 

Entirely satisfied. 

And the full wrath beside 

Of vengeful justice bore for our excess. 

And seals obedience first with wounding smart 



This day ; but oh ! ere long, 
Huge pangs and strong 
Will pierce more near his heart. 



THE PASSION. 



Erewhile of music, and ethereal mirth, 
Wherewith the stage of Air and Earth did ring, 
And joyous news of heavenly Infant's birth, 
My muse with Angels did divide to sing ; 
But headlong joy is ever on the wing, 

In wintry solstice like the shortened light 
Soon swallowed up in dark and long outliving night. 



n. 

For now to sorrow must I tune my song. 

And set my harp to notes of saddest woe. 

Which on our dearest Lord did seize ere long, 10 

Dangers, and snares, and wrongs, and worse than so, 

Which he for us did freely undergo : 

Most perfect Hero, tried in heaviest plight 
Of labours huge and hard, too hard for human wight ! 



.-U. 



48S THE PASSION. 



III. 

He, sovran Priest, stooping his regal head, 
That dropt with odorous oil down his fair eyes, 
Poor fleshly tabernacle entered, 
His starry front low-roofed beneath the skies : 
Oh, what a mask was there, what a disguise ! 

Yet more : the stroke of death he must abide ; 
Then lies him meekly down fast by his brethren's side. 



IV. 

These latest scenes confine my roving verse ; 
To this horizon is my Phoebus bound. 
His godlike acts, and his temptations fierce. 
And former sufferings, otherwhere are found ; 
Loud o'er the rest Cremona's trump doth sound : 

Me softer airs befit, and softer strings 
Of lute, or viol still, more apt for mournful things. 



Befriend me, Night, best patroness of grief ! 

Over the pole thy thickest mantle throw, 30 

And work my flattered fancy to belief 

That heaven and earth are coloured with my woe ; 

My sorrows are too dark for day to know : 

The leaves should all be black whereon I write. 
And letters, where my tears have washed, a wannish white. 



VI. 

See, see the chariot, and those rushing wheels, 

That whirled the prophet up at Chebar flood ; 

My spirit some transporting cherub feels 

To bear me where the towers of Salem stood. 

Once glorious towers, now sunk in guiltless blood. 40 

There doth my soul in holy vision sit. 
In pensive trance, and anguish, and ecstatic fit. 



Mine eye hath found that sad sepulchral rock 
That was the casket of Heaven's richest store. 



ON TIME, 489 



And here, though grief my feeble hands up-lock, 
Yet on the softened quarry would I score 
My plaining verse as lively as before ; 

For sure so well instructed are my tears 
That they would fitly fall in ordered characters. 



VIII. 

Or, should I thence, hurried on viewless wing, 50 

Take up a weeping on the mountains wild, 
The gentle neighbourhood of grove and spring 
Would soon unbosom all their echoes mild ; 
And I (for grief is easily beguiled) 

Might think the infection of my sorrows loud 
Had got a race of mourners on some pregnant cloud. 

This Subject the A iithor fielding to be above the years he had when he wrote it, and 
nothifig satisfied with what was begufi, left it unfinished. 



ON TIME. 

Flv. envious Time, till thou run out thy race : 

Call on the lazy leaden-stepping Hours, 

Whose speed is but the heavy plummet's pace ; 

And glut thyself with what thy womb devours, 

Which is no more than what is false and vain, 

And merely mortal dross ; 

So little is our loss. 

So little is thy gain! 

For, whenas each thing bad thou hast entombed, 

And, last of all, thy greedy self consumed, 10 

Then long Eternity shall greet our bliss 

With an individual kiss. 

And Joy shall overtake us as a flood ; 

When every thing that is sincerely good 

And perfectly divine. 

With Truth, and Peace, and Love, shall ever shine 

About the supreme throne 

Of Him, to whose happy-making sight alone 

When once our heavenly-guided soul shall climb. 

Then, all this earthy grossness quit, 20 

Attired with stars we shall for ever sit. 

Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee, O Time ! 



490 



SONG ON MAY MORNING. 



AT A SOLEMN MUSIC. 



Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of Heaven's joy, 

Sphere-born harmonious sisters, Voice and Verse, 

Wed your divine sounds, and mixed power employ, 

Dead things with inbreathed sense able to pierce ; 

And to our high-raised phantasy present 

That undisturbed song of pure concent, 

Aye sung before the sapphire-coloured throne 

To Him that sits thereon, 

With saintly shout and solemn jubilee ; 

Where the bright Seraphim in burning row 

Their loud uplifted angel-trumpets blow, 

And the Cherubic host in thousand quires 

Touch their immortal harps of golden wires. 

With those just Spirits that wear victorious palms, 

Hymns devout and holy psalms 

Singing everlastingly : 

That we on Earth, with undiscording voice, 

May rightly answer that melodious noise ; 

As once we did, till disproportioned sin 

Jarred against nature's chime, and with harsh din 

Broke the fair music that all creatures made 

To their great Lord, whose love their motion swayed 

In perfect diapason, whilst they stood 

In tirst obedience, and their state of good. 

O, may we soon again renew that song, 

And keep in tune with Heaven, till God ere long 

To his celestial consort us unite, 

To live with Him, and sing in endless morn of light ! 



10 



20 



SONG ON MAY MORNING. 



Now the bright morning-star, Day's harbinger, 
Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her 
The flowery May, who from her green lap throws 
The yellow cowshp and the pale primrose. 

Hail, bounteous May, that dost inspire 

Mirth, and youth, and warm desire ! 

Woods and groves are of thy dressing ; 

Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing. 
Thus we salute thee with our early song, 
And welcome thee, and wish thee long. 



ON THE UNIVERSITY CARRIER. 491 



ON SHAKESPEARE. 1630. 

What needs my Shakespeare for his honoured bones 

The labour of an age in piled stones? 

Or that his hallowed reliques should be hid 

Under a star-ypointing pyramid? 

Dear son of memory, great heir of fame, 

What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name? 

Thou in our wonder and astonishment 

Hast built thyself a livelong monument. 

For whilst, to the shame of slow-endeavouring art 

Thy easy numbers flow, and that each heart 10 

Hath from the leaves of thy unvalued book 

Those Delphic lines with deep impression took, 

Then thou, our fancy of itself bereaving, 

Dost make 7(s marble with too much conceiving, 

And so sepulchred in such pomp dost lie 

That kings for such a tomb would v.-ish to die. 



ON THE UNIVERSITY CARRIER, 

Who sickened in the tune of his Vacancy, being-forbid to go to London by reaso7t 
of the Plague. 

Here hes old Hobson. Death hath broke his girt, 

And here, alas ! hath laid him in the dirt ; 

Or else, the ways being foul, twenty to one 

He's here stuck in a slough, and overthrown. 

Twas such a shifter that, if truth were known, 

Death w^as half glad when he had got him down ; 

For he had any time this ten years full 

Dodged with him betwixt Cambridge and 77ie Bull. 

And surely Death could never have prevailed. 

Had not his weekly course of carriage failed ; 10 

But lately, finding him so long at home. 

And thinking now his journey's end was come. 

And that he had ta'en up his latest inn. 

In the kind office of a chamberHn 

Showed him his room where he must lodge that night. 

Pulled off his boots, and took away the light. 

If any ask for him, it shall be said, 

"Hobson has supped, and's newly gone to bed.'' 



492 ON THE MARCHIONESS OF WINCHESTER. 



ANOTHER ON THE SAME. 

Here lieth one who did most truly prove 

That he could never die while he could move ; 

So hung his destiny, never to rot 

While he might still jog on and keep his trot ; 

Made of sphere-metal, never to decay 

Until his revolution was at stay. 

Time numbers motion, yet (without a crime 

'Gainst old truth) motion numbered out his time ; 

And, like an engine moved with wheel and weight. 

His principles being ceased, he ended straight. lo 

Rest, that gives all men life, gave him his death. 

And too much breathing put him out of breath ; 

Nor were it contradiction to affirm 

Too long vacation hastened on his term. 

Merely to drive the time away he sickened. 

Fainted, and died, nor would with ale be quickened. 

"Nay," quoth he, on his swooning bed outstretched, 

" If I mayn't carry, sure Til ne'er be fetched, 

But vow, though the cross doctors all stood hearers, 

For one carrier put down to make six bearers." 20 

Ease was his chief disease ; and, to judge right, 

He died for heaviness that his cart went light. 

His leisure told him that his time was come. 

And lack of load made his life burdensome, 

That even to his last breath (there be that say't), 

As he were pressed to death, he cried, "More weight!" 

But, had his doings lasted as they were. 

He had been an immortal carrier. 

Obedient to the moon he spent his date 

In course reciprocal, and had his fate 30 

Linked to the mutual flowing of the seas ; 

Yet (strange to think) his wain was his increase. 

His letters are delivered all and gone ; 

Only remains this superscription. 



AN EPITAPH ON THE MARCHIONESS OF WINCHESTER. 

This rich marble doth inter 

The honoured wife of Winchester, 

A Viscount's daughter, an EarPs heir, 

Besides what her virtues fair 

Added to her noble birth, 

More than she could own from Earth. 



ON THE MARCHIONESS OF WINCHESTER. 493 



Summers three times eight save one 

She had told; alas! too soon, 

After so short time of breath. 

To house with darkness and with death! 10 

Yet, had the number of her days 

Been as complete as was her praise, 

Nature and Fate had had no strife 

In giving limit to her life. 

Her high birth and her graces sweet 

Quickly found a lover meet ; 

The virgin quire for her request 

The god that sits at marriage-feast ; 

He at their invoking came. 

But with a scarce well-lighted flame ; 20 

And in his garland, as he stood, 

Ye might discern a cypress-bud. 

Once had the early matrons run 

To greet her of a lovely son. 

And now with second hope she goes, 

And calls Lucina to her throes ; 

But, whether by mischance or blame, 

Atropos for Lucina came, 

And with remorseless cruelty 

Spoiled at once both fruit and tree. 30 

The hapless babe before his birth 

Had burial, not yet laid in earth ; 

And the languished mothers womb 

Was not long a living tomb. 

So have I seen some tender slip. 

Saved with care from winter's nip, 

The pride of her carnation train. 

Plucked up by some unheedy swain. 

Who only thought to crop the flower 

New shot up from vernal shower; 40 

But the fair blossom hangs the head 

Sideways, as on a dying bed. 

And those pearls of dew she wears 

Prove to be presaging tears 

Which the sad morn had let fall 

On her hastening funeral. 

Gentle Lady, may thy grave 

Peace and quiet ever have! 

After this thy travail sore. 

Sweet rest seize thee evermore, 5® 

That, to give the world increase. 

Shortened hast thy own life's lease! 

Here, besides the sorrowing 



494 LALLEGRO. 



That thy noble house doth bring, 

Here be tears of perfect moan 

Weept for thee in HeHcon ; 

And some flowers and some bays 

For thy hearse, to strew the ways. 

Sent thee from the banks of Came, 

Devoted to thy virtuous name ; 60 

Whilst thou, bright Saint, high sitt'st in glory, 

Next her, much like to thee in story. 

That fair Syrian shepherdess, 

Who, after years of barrenness, 

The highly-favoured Joseph bore 

To him that served for her before, 

And at her next birth, much like thee, 

Through pangs fled to felicity. 

Far within the bosom bright 

Of blazing Majesty and Light: 70 

There with thee, new-welcome Saint, 

Like fortunes may her soul acquaint. 

With thee there clad in radiant sheen, 

No Marchioness, but now a Queen. 



U ALLEGRO. 

Hence, loathed Melancholy, 

Of Cerberus and blackest Midnight born 
In Stygian cave forlorn 

'Mongst horrid shapes, and shrieks, and sights unholy! 
Find out some uncouth cell. 

Where brooding Darkness spreads his jealous wings, 
And the night-raven sings ; 

There, under ebon shades and low-browed rocks, 
As ragged as thy locks. 

In dark Cimmerian desert ever dwell. lo 

But come, thou Goddess fair and free, 
In heaven yclept Euphrosyne, 
And by men heart-easing Mirth ; 
Whom lovely Venus, at a birth. 
With two sister Graces more. 
To ivy-crowned Bacchus bore : 
Or whether (as some sager sing) 
The frolic wind that breathes the spring, 
Zephyr, with Aurora playing. 

As he met her once a-Maying, 20 

There, on beds of violets blue. 



LALLEGRO. 495 



And fresh-blown roses washed in dew, 

Filled her with thee, a daughter fair, 

So buxom, blithe, and debonair. 

Haste thee, Nymph, and bring with thee 

Jest, and youthful Jollity, 

Quips and Cranks and wanton Wiles, 

Nods and Becks and wreathed Smiles, 

Such as hang on Hebe's cheek, 

And love to live in dimple sleek; 30 

Sport that wrinkled Care derides. 

And Laughter holding both his sides. 

Come, and trip it, as you go. 

On the light fantastic toe; 

And in thy right hand lead with thee 

The mountain-nymph, sweet Liberty; 

And, if I give thee honour due, 

Mirth, admit me of thy crew. 

To live with her, and live with thee, 

In unreproved pleasures free ; 4° 

To hear the lark begin his flight, 

And, singing, startle the dull night, 

From his watch-tower in the skies, 

Till the dappled dawn doth rise; 

Then to come, in spite of sorrow, 

And at my window bid good-morrow, 

Through the sweet-briar or the vine, 

Or the twisted eglantine ; 

While the cock, with lively din, 

Scatters the rear of darkness thin; 50 

And to the stack, or the barn-door, 

Stoutly struts his dames before : 

Oft listening how the hounds and horn 

Cheerly rouse the slumbering morn. 

From the side of some hoar hill. 

Through the high wood echoing shrill : 

Sometime walking, not unseen. 

By hedgerow elms, on hillocks green. 

Right against the eastern gate 

Where the great Sun begins his state, 60 

Robed in. flames and amber light, 

The clouds in thousand liveries dight ; 

While the ploughman, near at hand, 

Whistles o'er the furrowed land, 

And the milkmaid singeth blithe, 

And the mower whets his scythe, 

And every shepherd tells his tale 

Under the hawthorn in the dale. 



496 VALLEGRO. 



Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures, 

Whilst the landskip round it measures : 70 

Russet lawns, and fallows grey, 

Where the nibbling flocks do stray; 

Mountains on whose barren breast 

The labouring clouds do often rest ; 

Meadows trim, with daisies pied ; 

Shallow brooks, and rivers wide ; 

Towers and battlements it sees 

Bosomed high in tufted trees, 

Where perhaps some beauty lies, 

The cynosure of neighbouring eyes. 80 

Hard by a cottage chimney smokes 

From betwixt two aged oaks, 

Where Corydon and Thyrsis met 

Are at their savoury dinner set 

Of herbs and other country messes, 

Which the neat-handed Phillis dresses ; 

And then in haste her bower she leaves, 

With Thestylis to bind the sheaves ; 

Or, if the earlier season lead, 

To the tanned haycock in the mead. 90 

Sometimes, with secure delight, 

The upland hamlets will invite, 

When the merry bells ring round. 

And the jocund rebecks sound 

To many a youth and many a maid 

Dancing in the chequered shade. 

And young and old come forth to play 

On a sunshine holiday. 

Till the livelong daylight fail: 

Then to the spicy nut-brown ale, 100 

With stories told of many a feat. 

How Faery Mab the junkets eat. 

She was pinched and pulled, she said ; 

And he, by Friar's lantern led, 

Tells how the drudging goblin sweat 

To earn his cream-bowl duly set, 

When in one night, ere glimpse of morn, 

His shadowy flail hath threshed the corn 

That ten day-labourers could not end ; 

Then lies him down, the lubber fiend, no 

And, stretched out all the chimney's length, 

Basks at the fire his hairy strength. 

And crop-full out of doors he flings, 

Ere the first cock his matin rings. 

Thus done the tales, to bed they creep, 



IL PENSEROSO. 



497 



By whispering winds soon lulled asleep. 

Towered cities please us then, 

And the busy hum of men, 

Where throngs of knights and barons bold, 

In weeds of peace, high triumphs hold, 120 

With store of ladies, whose bright eyes 

Rain influence, and judge the prize 

Of wit or arms, while both contend 

To win her grace whom all commend. 

There let Hymen oft appear 

In saffron robe, with taper clear, 

And pomp, and feast, and revelry, 

With mask and antique pageantry; 

Such sights as youthful poets dream 

On summer eves by haunted stream. 130 

Then to the well-trod stage anon, 

If Jonson's learned sock be on, 

Or sweetest Shakespeare, Fancy's child, 

Warble his native wood-notes wild, 

And ever, against eating cares. 

Lap me in soft Lydian airs. 

Married to immortal verse, 

Such as the meeting soul may pierce, 

In notes with many a winding bout 

Of linked sweetness long drawn out 140 

With wanton heed and giddy cunning. 

The melting voice through mazes running, 

Untwisting all the chains that tie 

The hidden soul of harmony ; 

That Orpheus' self may heave his head 

From golden slumber on a bed 

Of heaped Elysian floAvers, and hear 

Such strains as would have won the ear 

Of Pluto to have quite set free 

His half-regained Eurydice. 150 

These delights if thou canst give, 

Mirth, with thee I mean to live. 



IL PENSEROSO. 

Hence, vain deluding Joys, 

The brood of Folly without father bred! 
How little you bested. 

Or fill the fixed mind with all your toys! 
Dwell in some idle brain, 



498 IL PENSEROSO. 



And fancies fond with gaudy shapes possess, 
As thick and numberless 

As the gay motes that people the sun-beams, 
Or likest hovering dreams, 

The fickle pensioners of Morpheus' train. lo 

But, hail ! thou Goddess sage and holy! 
Hail, divinest Melancholy! 
Whose saintly visage is too bright 
To hit the sense of human sight. 
And therefore to our weaker view 
Overlaid with black, staid Wisdom's hue ; 
Black, but such as in esteem 
Prince Memnon's sister might beseem. 
Or that starred Ethiop queen that strove 
To set her beauty's praise above 20 

The Sea-Nymphs, and their powers offended. 
Yet thou art higher far descended : 
Thee bright-haired Vesta long of yore 
To solitary Saturn bore ; 
His daughter she ; in Saturn's reign 
Such mixture was not held a stain. 
Oft in glimmering bowers and glades 
He met her, and in secret shades 
Of woody Ida's inmost grove. 

Whilst yet there was no fear of Jove. 30 

Come, pensive Nun, devout and pure, 
Sober, steadfast, and demure. 
All in a robe of darkest grain. 
Flowing with majestic train, 
And sable stole of cypress lawn 
Over thy decent shoulders drawn. 
Come ; but keep thy wonted state, 
With even step, and musing gait. 
And looks commercing with the skies, 
Thy rapt soul sitting in thine eyes : 40 

There, held in holy passion still, 
Forget thyself to marble, till 
With a sad leaden downward cast 
Thou fix them on the earth as fast. 
And join with thee calm Peace and Quiet, 
Spare Fast, that oft with gods doth diet, 
And hears the Muses in a ring 
Aye round about Jove's altar sing ; 
And add to these retired Leisure, 

That in trim gardens takes his pleasure ; 50 

But, first and chiefest, with thee bring 
Him that yon soars on golden wing, 



IL PENSEROSO. 499 % 



Guiding the fiery-wheeled throne, 

The Cherub Contemplation ; 

And the mute Silence hist along, 

'Less Philomel will deign a song, 

In her sweetest saddest plight, 

Smoothing the rugged brow of Night, 

While Cynthia checks her dragon yoke 

Gently o'er the accustomed oak. 60 

Sweet bird, that shunn'st the noise of folly, 

Most musical, most melancholy ! 

Thee, chauntress, oft the woods among 

I woo, to hear thy even-song; 

And, missing thee, I walk unseen 

On the dry smooth-shaven green. 

To behold the wandering moon. 

Riding near her highest noon, 

Like one that had been led astray 

JThrough the heaven's wide pathless way, 70 

And oft, as if her head she bowed. 

Stooping through a fleecy cloud. 

Oft, on a plat of rising ground, 

I hear the far-off curfew sound, 

Over some wide-watered shore. 

Swinging slow with sullen roar; 

Or, if the air will not permit, 

Some still removed place will fit. 

Where glowing embers through the room 

Teach light to counterfeit a gloom, 80 

Far from all resort of mirth, 

Save the cricket on the hearth. 

Or the bellman's drowsy charm 

To bless the doors from nightly harm. 

Or let my lamp, at midnight hour. 

Be seen in some high lonely tower, 

Where I may oft outwatch the Bear, 

With thrice great Hermes, or unsphere 

The spirit of Plato, to unfold 

What worlds or what vast regions hold 90 

The immortal mind that hath forsook 

Her mansion in this fleshly nook ; 

And of those demons that are found 

In fire, air, flood, or underground, 

Whose power hath a tme consent 

With planet or with element. 

Sometime let gorgeous Tragedy 

In sceptred pall come sweeping by, 

Presenting Thebes, or Pelops' line, 



500 IL PENSEROSO. 



Or the tale of Troy divine, loo 

Or what (though rare) of later age 

Ennobled hath the buskined stage. 

But, O sad Virgin ! that thy power 

Might raise Musseus from his bower ; 

Or bid the soul of Orpheus sing 

Such notes as, warbled to the string, 

Drew iron tears down Pluto's cheek. 

And made Hell grant what love did seek; 

Or call up him that left half-told 

The story of Cambuscan bold, no 

Of Camball, and of Algarsife, 

And who had Canace to wife, 

That owned the virtuous ring and glass. 

And of the wondrous horse of brass 

On which the Tartar king did ri^le ; 

And if aught else great bards beside 

In sage and solemn tunes have sung. 

Of turneys, and of trophies hung. 

Of forests, and enchantments drear, 

Where more is meant than meets the ear. 120 

Thus, Night, oft see me in thy pale career. 

Till civil-suited Morn appear. 

Not tricked and frounced, as she was wont 

With the Attic boy to hunt, 

But kerchieft in a comely cloud, 

While rocking winds are piping loud. 

Or ushered with a shower still, 

When the gust hath blown his fill, 

Ending on the rustling leaves, 

With minute-drops from oif the eaves. 130 

And, when the sun begins to fling 

His flaring beams, me. Goddess, bring 

To arched walks of twilight groves. 

And shadows brown, that Sylvan loves, 

Of pine, or monumental oak. 

Where the rude axe with heaved stroke 

Was never heard the nymphs to daunt. 

Or fright them from their hallowed haunt. 

There, in close covert, by some brook, 

Where no profaner eye may look, 140 

Hide me from day's garish eye. 

While the bee with honeyed thigh, 

That at her flowery work doth sing, 

And the waters murmuring, 

With such consort as they keep, 

Entice the dewy-feathered Sleep. 



IL PENSEROSO. 501 



And let some strange mysterious dream 

Wave at his wings, in airy stream 

Of lively portraiture displayed, 

Softly on my eyelids laid; 150 

And, as I wake, sweet music breathe 

Above, about, or underneath, 

Sent by some Spirit to mortals good, 

Or the unseen Genius of the wood. 

But let my due feet never fail 

To walk the studious cloister's pale, 

And love the high embowed roof. 

With antique pillars massy-proof, 

And storied windows richly dight, 

Casting a dim religious light. 160 

There let the pealing organ blow, 

To the full-voiced quire below, 

In service high and anthems clear. 

As may with sweetness, through mine ear. 

Dissolve me into ecstasies. 

And bring all Heaven before mine eyes. 

And may at last my weary age 

Find out the peaceful hermitage, 

The hairy gown and mossy cell. 

Where I may sit and rightly spell 1 70 

Of every star that heaven cloth shew, 

And every herb that sips the dew, 

Till old experience do attain 

To something like prophetic strain. 

These pleasures. Melancholy, give ; 

And I with thee will choose to live. 



502 



ARCADES. 



ARCADES. 

Part of an Entertainment presented to the Countess Dowager of Derby 
at Harefield by some Noble Persons of her Family ; who appear ofi 
the Scene in pastoral habit ^ moving toward the seat of state, with 
this song: 

I. Song. 

Look, Nymphs and Shepherds, look ! 
What sudden blaze of majesty 
Is that which we from hence descry, 
Too divine to be mistook? 

This, this is she 
To whom our vows and wishes bend : 
Here our solemn search hath end. 
Fame, that her high worth to raise 
Seemed erst so lavish and profuse, 

We may justly now accuse lo 

Of detraction from her praise : 

Less than half we find expressed ; 

Envy bid conceal the rest. 

Mark what radiant state she spreads, 
In circle round her shining throne 
Shooting her beams like silver threads : 
This, this is she alone, 

Sitting like a goddess bright 

In the centre of her light. 

Might she the wise Latona be, 20 

Or the towered Cybele, 
Mother of a hundred gods? 
Juno dares not give her odds : 

Who had thought this clime had held 

A deity so unparalleled? 



As they come forward, the Genius of the Wood appears, and, 
turning toward them, speaks. 

Gen. Stay, gentle Swains, for, though in this disguise, 
I see bright honour sparkle through your eyes ; 
Of famous Arcady ye are, and sprung 



ARCADES. 



503 



Of that renowned flood, so often sung, 

Divine Alpheus, who, by secret sluice, 30 

Stole under seas to meet his Arethuse ; 

And ye, the breathing roses of the wood. 

Fair silver-buskined Nymphs, as great and good. 

I know this quest of yours and free intent 

Was all in honour and devotion meant 

To the great mistress of yon princely shrine, 

Whom with low reverence I adore as mine. 

And with all helpful service will comply 

To further this night's glad solemnity, 

And lead ye where ye may more near behold 40 

What shallow-searching Fame hath left untold ; 

Which I full oft, amidst these shades alone. 

Have sat to wonder at, and gaze upon. 

For know, by lot from Jove, I am the Power 

Of this fair wood, and live in oaken bower, 

To nurse the saplings tall, and curl the grove 

With ringlets quaint and wanton windings wove; 

And all my plants I save from nightly ill 

Of noisome winds and blasting vapours chill ; 

And from the boughs brush off the evil dew, 50 

And heal the harms of thwarting thunder blue, 

Or what the cross dire-looking planet smites. 

Or hurtful worm with cankered venom bites. 

When evening grey doth rise, I fetch my round 

Over the mount, and all this hallowed ground; 

And early, ere the odorous breath of morn 

Awakes the slumbering leaves, or tasselled horn 

Shakes the high thicket, haste I all about, 

Number my ranks, and visit every sprout 

With puissant words and murmurs made to bless. 60 

But else, in deep of night, when drowsiness 

Hath locked up mortal sense, then listen I 

To the celestial Sirens' harmony. 

That sit upon the nine infolded spheres. 

And sing to those that hold the vital shears. 

And turn the adamantine spindle round 

On which the fate of gods and men is wound. 

Such sweet compulsion doth in music lie, 

To lull the daughters of Necessity, 

And keep unsteady Nature to her law, 70 

And the low world in measured motion draw 

After the heavenly tune, which none can liear 

Of human mould with gross unpurg^d ear. 

And yet such music worthiest were to blaze 

The peerless height of her immortal praise 




Whose lustre leads us, and for her n>ost fit, 

If my inferior hand or voice could hit 

Inimitable sounds. Yet, as we go. 

Whatever the skill of lesser gods can show 

I will assay, her worth to celebrate, 80 

And so attend ye toward her glittering state ; 

Where ye may all, that are of noble stem, 

Approach, and kiss her sacred vesture''s hem. 

II. S07lg. 

Cer the smooth enamelled green. 
Where no print of step hath been. 

Follow me, as I sing 

And touch the warbled string : 
Under the shady roof 
Of branching elm star-proof 

Follow me. 90 

I will bring you where she sits, 
Clad in splendour as befits 

Her deity. 
Such a rural Queen 
All Arcadia hath not seen. 



III. S07lg. 

Nymphs and Shepherds, dance no more 

By sandy Ladon's lilied banks ; 
On old I.ycasus, or Cyllene hoar, 

Trip no more in twilight ranks ; 
Though Erymanth your loss deplore, 100 

A better soil shall give ye thanks. 
From the stony Moenalus 
Bring your flocks, and live with us ; 
Here ye shall have greater grace. 
To serve the Lady of this place. 
Though Syrinx your Pan's mistress were, 
Yet Syrinx well might wait on her. 

Such a rural Queen 

All Arcadia hath not seen. 



. ■ ii ' imi w »iB .j 



J 



COMUS. 505 



COMUS. 

"A MASQUE PRESENTED AT LUDLOW CASTLE, 1 634, &C.'' 

(For the Title-pages of the Editions of 1637 and 1645 see Introduction at p. 420 and p. 421.) 

DEDICATION OF THE ANONYMOUS EDITION OF 1 637. 
(Reprinted in the Edition of 1645, but omitted in that of 1673.) 

" To the Right Honou7'able John, Lord Brackley, son arid heir-apparent to 
the Earl of Bridgeivater, &'c." 

« My Lord, 

"This Poem, which received its first occasion of birth from 
yourself and others of your noble family, and much honour from your own 
person in the performance, now returns again to make a final dedication of 
itself to you. Although not openly acknowledged by the Author, yet it is a 
legitimate offspring, so lovely and so much desired that the often copying of it 
hath tired my pen to give my several friends satisfaction, and brought me 
to a necessity of producing it to the public view, and now to offer it up, in 
all rightful devotion, to those fair hopes and rare endowments of your much- 
promising youth, which give a full assurance to all that know you of a future 
excellence. Live, sweet Lord, to be the honour of your name; and receive 
this as your own from the hands of him who hath by many favours been long 
obliged to your most honoured Parents, and, as in this representation your 
attendant Thyrsis, so now in all real expression 

" Your faithful and most humble Servant, 

"H. Lawes." 

" The Copy of a Letter xvritten by Sir Henry IVotton to the Author upon the 
following Poemy 

(In the Edition of 1645: omitted in that of 1673.) 

" From the College, this 13 of April, 1638. 
" Sir, 

" It was a special favour when you lately bestowed upon me here 
the first taste of your acquaintance, though no longer than to make me know 
that I wanted more time to value it and to enjoy it rightly; and, in truth, if I 
could then have imagined your farther stay in these parts, which I understood 
afterwards by Mr. H., I would have been bold, in our vulgar phrase, to mend 
my draught (for you left me with an extreme thirst), and to have begged 



5o6 COMUS. 



your conversation again, jointly with your said learned friend, over a poor 
meal or two, that we might have banded together some good Authors of the 
ancient time; among which I observed you to have been familiar. 

" Since your going, you have charged me with new obligations, both for a 
very kind letter from you dated the 6th of this month, and for a dainty piece 
of entertainment which came therewith. Wherein I should much commend 
the tragical part, if the lyrical did not ravish me with a certain Doric delicacy 
in your Songs and Odes, whereunto I must plainly confess to have seen yet 
nothing parallel in our language : Ipsa mollities. But I must not omit to tell 
you that I now only owe you thanks for intimating unto me (how modestly 
soever) the true artificer. For the work itself I had viewed some good while 
before with singular delight; having received it from our common friend Mr. 
R., in the very close of the late R.'s Poems, printed at Oxford : whereunto it 
was added (as I now suppose) that the accessory might help out the principal, 
according to the art of Stationers, and to leave the reader con la bocca dolce. 

"Now, Sir, concerning your travels; wherein I may challenge a little more 
privilege of discourse with you. I suppose you will not blanch Paris in your 
way : therefore I have been bold to trouble you with a few lines to Mr. M. B., 
whom you shall easily find attending the young Lord S. as his governor; 
and you may surely receive from him good directions for the shaping of your 
farther journey into Italy where he did reside, by my choice, some time for 
the King, after mine own recess from Venice. 

" I should think that your best line will be through the whole length of 
France to Marseilles, and thence by sea to Genoa; whence the passage into 
Tuscany is as diurnal as a Gravesend barge. I hasten, as )ou do, to Florence 
or Siena, the rather to tell you a short story, from the interest you have given 
me in your safety. 

" At Siena I was tabled in the house of one Alberto Scipioni, an old 
Roman courtier in dangerous times; having been steward to the Duca di 
Pagliano, who with all his family were strangled, save this only man that 
escaped by foresight of the tempest. With him I had often much chat of 
those affairs, into which he took pleasure to look back from his native 
harbour; and, at my departure toward Rome (which had been the centre of 
his experience), I had won his confidence enough to beg his advice how I 
might carry myself there without offence of others or of mine own conscience. 
' Signor Arrigo mio^ says he, * I pensieri stretti ed il viso sciolto will go safely 
over the whole world.' Of which Delphian oracle (for so I have found it) your 
judgment doth need no commentary; and therefore. Sir, I will commit you, 
with it, to the best of all securities, God's dear love, remaining 

" Your friend, as much to command as any of longer date, 

"Henry Wotton." 

Postscript. 

" Sir : I have expressly sent this my footboy to prevent your departure 
without some acknowledgment from me of the receipt of your obliging letter; 
having myself through some business, I know not how, neglected the ordinary 
conveyance. In any part where I shall understand you fixed, I shall be glad 
and diligent to entertain you with home-novelties, even for some fomentation 
of our friendship, too soon interrupted in the cradle." 



COMUS. so? 



THE PERSONS. 

The Attendant Spirit, afterwards in the habit of Thyrsis. 

CoMUS, with his Crew. 

The Lady. 

First Brother. 

Second Brother. 

Sabrina, the Nymph. 

The Chief Persons which presented were : — 

The Lord Brackley ; 

Mr. Thomas Egerton, his Brother; 

The Lady Ahce Egerton. 

[This list of the Persons, &c., appeared in the Edition of 1645, but was omitted 
in that of 1673.] 



So8 COMUS. 



COMUS. 

The first Scene discovers a wild wood. 

The Attendant Spirit descends or ettters. 

Before the starry threshold of Jove's court 
My mansion is, where those immortal shapes 
Of bright aerial spirits live insphered 
In regions mild of calm and serene air, 
Above the smoke and stir of this dim spot 
Which men call Earth, and, with low-thoughted care, 
Confined and pestered in this pinfold here. 
Strive to keep up a frail and feverish being, 
Unmindful of the crown that Virtue gives. 

After this mortal change, to her true servants lo 

Amongst the enthroned gods on sainted seats. 
Yet some there be that by due steps aspire 
To lay their just hands on that golden key 
That opes the palace of eternity. 
To such my errand is ; and, but for such, 
I would not soil these pure ambrosial weeds 
With the rank vapours of this sin-worn mould. 
But to my task. Neptune, besides the sway 
Of every salt flood and each ebbing stream. 
Took in, by lot ""twixt high and nether Jove, 20 

Imperial rule of all the sea-girt isles 
That, like to rich and various gems, inlay 
The unadorned bosom of the deep ; 
Which he, to grace his tributary gods. 
By course commits to several government, 
And gives them leave to wear their sapphire crowns 
And wield their little tridents. But this Isle, 
The greatest and the best of all the main. 
He quarters to his blue-haired deities; 

And all this tract that fronts the falling sun 30 

A noble Peer of mickle trust and power 
Has in his charge, with tempered awe to guide 
An old and haughty nation, proud in arms: 
Where his fair offspring, nursed in princely lore, 
Are coming to attend their father's state, 



COMUS. 509 



And new-intrusted sceptre. But their way 

Lies through the perplexed paths of this drear wood, 

The nodding horror of whose shady brows 

Threats the forlorn and wandering passenger; 

And here their tender age might suffer peril, 40 

But that, by quick command from sovran Jove, 

I was despatched for their defence and guard ! 

And listen why ; for I will tell you now 

What never yet was heard in tale or song, 

From old or modern bard, in hall or bower. 

Bacchus, that first from out the purple grape 
Crushed the sweet poison of misused wine. 
After the Tuscan mariners transformed, 
Coasting the Tyrrhene shore, as the winds listed. 
On Circe's island fell. (Who knows not Circe, 50 

The daughter of the Sun, whose charmed cup 
Whoever tasted lost his upright shape, 
And downward fell into a grovelling swine?) 
This Nymph, that gazed upon his clustering locks, 
With ivy berries wreathed, and his blithe youth. 
Had by him, ere he parted thence, a son 
Much like his father, but his mother more. 
Whom therefore she brought up, and Comus named : 
Who, ripe and frolic of his fiill-grown age. 

Roving the Celtic and Iberian fields, 60 

At last betakes him to this ominous wood. 
And, in thick shelter of black shades imbowered. 
Excels his mother at her mighty art ; 
Offering to every weary traveller 
His orient liquor in a crystal glass. 

To quench the drouth of Phoebus ; which as they taste 
(For most do taste through fond intemperate thirst). 
Soon as the potion works, their human countenance. 
The express resemblance of the gods, is changed 
Into some bmtish form of wolf or bear, 70 

Or ounce or tiger, hog, or bearded goat. 
All other parts remaining as they were. 
And they, so perfect is their misery, 
Not once perceive their foul disfigurement. 
But boast themselves more comely than before, 
And all their friends and native home forget, 
To roll with pleasure in a sensual sty. 
Therefore, when any favoured of high Jove 
Chances to pass through this adventurous glade. 
Swift as the sparkle of a glancing star 80 

I shoot from heaven, to give him safe convoy, 
As now I do. But first I must put off 



These my sky-robes, spun out of Iris' woof, 

And take the weeds and likeness of a swain 

That to the service of this house belongs, 

Who, with his soft pipe and smooth-dittied song. 

Well knows to still the wild winds when they roar, 

And hush the waving woods ; nor of less faith. 

And in this office of his mountain watch 

Likeliest, and nearest to the present aid 90 

Of this occasion. But I hear the tread 

Of hateful steps ; I must be viewless now. 



CoMUS enters, with a charmifig-rod in one hand, his glass in the other; with him a rout 
of monsters, headed like stindry sorts of wild beasts, but otherwise like men and 
women, their apparel glistering. They cone in making a riotous and unruly noise, 
with torches in their hands. 



Connis. The star that bids the shepherd fold 
Now the top of heaven doth hold ; 
And the gilded car of day 
His glowing axle doth allay 
In the steep Atlantic stream : 
And the slope sun his upward beam 
Shoots against the dusky pole, 

Pacing toward the other goal 100 

Of his chamber in the east. 
Meanwhile, welcome joy and feast, 
Midnight shout and revelry. 
Tipsy dance and jollity. 
Braid your locks with rosy twine, 
Dropping odours, dropping wine. 
Rigour now is gone to bed ; 
And Advice with scrupulous head, 
Strict Age, and sour Severity, 

With their grave saws, in slumber lie. no 

We, that are of purer fire. 
Imitate the starry quire. 
Who, in their nightly watchful spheres, 
Lead in swift round the months and years. 
The sounds and seas, with all their finny drove, 
Now to the moon in wavering morrice move ; 
And on the tawny sands and shelves 
Trip the pert fairies and the dapper elves. 
By dimpled brook and fountain-brim, 

The wood-nymphs, decked with daisies trim, 120 

Their merry wakes and pastimes keep : 
What hath night to do with sleep? 



f 



COMUS. 511 



Night hath better sweets to prove ; 

Venus now wakes, and wakens Love. 

Come, let us our rights begin ; 

'Tis only daylight that makes sin. 

Which these dun shades will ne'er report. 

Hail, goddess of nocturnal sport, 

Dark-veiled Cotytto, to whom the secret flame 

Of midnight torches burns! mysterious dame, 130 

That ne'er art called but when the dragon womb 

Of Stygian darkness spets her thickest gloom, 

And makes one blot of all the air! 

Stay thy cloudy ebon chair, 

Wherein thou ridest with Hecat', and befriend 

Us thy vowed priests, till utmost end 

Of all thy dues be done, and none left out 

Ere the blabbing eastern scout, 

The nice Morn on the Indian steep, 

From her cabined loop-hole peep, 140 

And to the tell-tale Sun descry 

Our concealed solemnity. 

Come, knit hands, and beat the ground 

In a light fantastic round. 

The Measure. 

Break off, break off! I feel the different pace 

Of some chaste footing near about this ground. 

Run to your shrouds within these brakes and trees ; 

Our number may affright. Some virgin sure 

(For so I can distinguish by mine art) 

Benighted in these woods! Now to my charms, 150 

And to my wily trains : I shall ere long 

Be well stocked with as fair a herd as grazed 

About my mother Circe. Thus I hurl 

My dazzling spells into the spongy air, 

Of power to cheat the eye with blear illusion. 

And give it false presentments, lest the place 

And my quaint habits breed astonishment. 

And put the damsel to suspicious flight; 

Which must not be, for that's against my course. 

I, under fair pretence of friendly ends, 160 

And well-placed words of glozing courtesy. 

Baited with reasons not unplausible, 

Wind me into the easy-hearted man, 

And hug him into snares. When once her eye 

Hath met the virtue of this magic dust 

I shall appear some harmless villager, 



512 COMUS. 



Whom thrift keeps up about his country gear. 
But here she comes ; I fairly step aside, 
And hearken, if I may her business hear. 



The Lady enters. 

Lady. This way the noise was, if mine ear be true, 
My best guide now. Methought it was the sound 170 

Of riot and ill-managed merriment, 
Such as the jocund flute or gamesome pipe 
Stirs up among the loose unlettered hinds, 
When, for their teeming flocks and granges full, 
In wanton dance they praise the bounteous Pan, 
And thank the gods amiss. I should be loth 
To meet the rudeness and swilled insolence 
Of such late wassailers ; yet, oh ! where else 
Shall I inform my unacquainted feet 180 

In the blind mazes of this tangled wood? 
My brothers, when they saw me wearied out 
With this long way, resolving here to lodge 
Under the spreading favour of these pines. 
Stepped, as they said, to the next thicket-side 
To bring me berries, or such cooling fruit 
As the kind hospitable woods provide. 
They left me then when the grey-hooded Even, 
Like a sad votarist in palmer's weed, 

Rose from the hindmost wheels of Phoebus' wain. 190 

But where they are, and why they came not back, 
Is now the labour of my thoughts. Tis likeliest 
They had engaged their wandering steps too far; 
And envious darkness, ere they could return, 
Had stole them from me. Else, O thievish Night, 
Why shouldst thou, but for some felonious end. 
In thy dark lantern thus close up the stars 
That Nature hung in heaven, and filled their lamps 
With everlasting oil, to give due light 

To the misled and lonely traveller? 200 

This is the place, as well as I may guess. 
Whence even now the tumult of loud mirth 
Was rife, and perfect in my listening ear; 
Yet nought but single darkness do I find. 
What might this be? A thousand fantasies 
Begin to throng into my memory. 
Of calling shapes, and beckoning shadows dire, 
And airy tongues that syllable men's names 
On sands and shores and desert wildernesses. 



COM us. 513 



These thoughts may startle well, but not astound 210 

The virtuous mind, that ever walks attended 

By a strong siding champion, Conscience. 

O, welcome, pure-eyed Faith, white-handed Hope, 

Thou hovering angel girt with golden wings, 

And thou unblemished form of Chastity! 

I see thee visibly, and now believe 

That He, the Supreme Good, to whom all things ill 

Are but as slavish officers of vengeance, 

Would send a glistering guardian, if need were. 

To keep my life and honour unassailed. . . . 220 

Was I deceived, or did a sable cloud 

Turn forth her silver lining on the night? 

I did not err : there does a sable cloud 

Turn forth her silver lining on the night. 

And casts a gleam over this tufted grove. 

I cannot hallo to my brothers, but 

Such noise as I can make to be heard farthest 

ril venture ; for my new-enlivened spirits 

Prompt me, and they perhaps are not far off. 

S07tg. 

Sweet Echo, sweetest nymph, that liv'st unseen 230 

Within thy airy shell 
By slow Meander's margent green, 
And in the violet-embroidered vale 

Where the love-lorn nightingale 
Nightly to thee her sad song mourneth well : 
Canst thou not tell me of a gentle pair 
That likest thy Narcissus are.'' 

O, if thou have 
Hid them in some flowery cave. 

Tell me but where, 240 

Sweet Queen of Parley, Daughter of the Sphere! 
So may'st thou be translated to the skies, 
And give resounding grace to all Heaven's harmonies! 

Coinus. Can any mortal mixture of earth's mould 
Breathe such divine enchanting ravishment? 
Sure something holy lodges in that breast, 
And with these raptures moves the vocal air 
To testify his hidden residence. 
How sweetly did they float upon the wings 
Of silence, through the empty-vaulted night,. 250 

At every fall smoothing the raven down 
Of darkness till it smiled! I have oft heard 



514 COMUS. 



My mother Circe with the Sirens three, 

Amidst the flowery-kirtled Naiades, 

Culling their potent herbs and baleful drugs, 

Who, as they sung, would take the prisoned soul, 

And lap it in Elysium : Scylla wept. 

And chid her barking waves into attention, 

And fell Charybdis murmured soft applause. 

Yet they in pleasing slumber lulled the sense, 260 

And in sweet madness robbed it of itself; 

But such a sacred and home-felt delight. 

Such sober certainty of waking bliss, 

I never heard till now. Til speak to her. 

And she shall be my queen. — Hail, foreign wonder! 

Whom certain these rough shades did never breed, 

Unless the goddess that in rural shrine 

DwelPst here with Pan or Sylvan, by blest song 

Forbidding every bleak unkindly fog 

To touch the prosperous growth of this tall wood. 270 

Lady. Nay, gentle shepherd, ill is lost that praise 
That is addressed to unattending ears. 
Not any boast of skill, but extreme shift 
How to regain my severed company. 
Compelled me to awake the courteous Echo 
To give me answer from her mossy couch. 

Comtis. What chance, good Lady, hath bereft you thus? 

Lady. Dim darkness and this leavy labyrinth. 

Comtis. Could that divide you from near-ushering guides? 

Lady. They left me weary on a grassy turf. 280 

Coimis. By falsehood, or discourtesy, or why? 

Lady. To seek i' the valley some cool friendly spring. 

Co7nus. And left your fair side all unguarded, Lady? 

Lady. They were but twain, and purposed quick return 

Comus. Perhaps forestalling night prevented them. 

Lady. How easy my misfortune is to hit! 

Comus. Imports their loss, beside the present need? 

Lady. No less than if I should my brothers lose. 

Co7mis. Were they qf manly prime, or youthful bloom? 

Lady. As smooth as Hebe's their unrazored lips. 290 

Comits. Two such I saw, what time the laboured ox 
In his loose traces from the furrow came, 
And the s winked hedger at his supper sat. 
I saw them under a green mantling vine, 
That crawls along the side of yon small hill. 
Plucking ripe clusters from the tender shoots ; 
Their port was more than human, as they stood. 
I took it for a faery vision 
Of some gay creatures of the element. 



COMUS, 515 



That in the colours of the rainbow live, 300 

And play i' the plighted clouds. I was awe-strook, 
And, as I passed, I worshiped. If those you seek, 
It were a journey like the path to Heaven 
To help you find them. 

Lady. Gentle villager, 

What readiest way would bring me to that place? 

Cofniis. Due west it rises from this shmbby point. 

Lady. To find out that, good shepherd, I suppose, 
In such a scant allowance of star-light, 
Would overtask the best land-pilot's art. 
Without the sure guess of well-practised feet. 310 

Cornus. I know each lane, and every alley green. 
Dingle, or bushy dell, of this wild wood, 
And every bosky bourn from side to side. 
My daily walks and ancient neighbourhood ; 
And, if your stray attendance be yet lodged. 
Or shroud within these limits, I shall know 
Ere morrow wake, or the low-roosted lark 
From her thatched pallet rouse. If otherwise, 
I can conduct you, Lady, to a low 

But loyal cottage, where you may be safe 320 

Till further quest. 

Lady. Shepherd, I take thy word, 

And trust thy honest-offered courtesy, 
Which oft is sooner found in lowly sheds, 
With smoky rafters, than in tapestry halls 
And courts of princes, where it first was named, 
And yet is most pretended. In a place 
Less warranted than this, or less secure, 
I cannot be, that I should fear to change it. 
Eye me, blest Providence, and square my trial 
To my proportioned strength! Shepherd, lead on. . . . 330 

The Two Brothers. 

Eld. Bro. Unmuffle, ye faint stars ; and thou, fair moon, 
That wont'st to love the traveller's benison. 
Stoop thy pale visage through an amber cloud, 
And disinherit Chaos, that reigns here 
In double night of darkness and of shades ; 
Or, if your influence be quite dammed up 
With black usurping mists, some gentle taper, 
Though a rush-candle from the wicker hole 
Of some clay habitation, visit us 
With thy long levelled rule of streaming light, 340 



r 



516 COM US. 



And thou shalt be our star of Arcady, 
Or Tyrian Cynosure. 

Sec. Bro. Or, if our eyes 

Be barred that happiness, might we but hear 
The folded flocks, penned in their wattled cotes, 
Or sound of pastoral reed with oaten stops, 
Or whistle from the lodge, or village cock 
Count the night-watches to his feathery dames, 
'Twould be some solace yet, some little cheering, 
In this close dungeon of innumerous boughs. 
But, Oh, that hapless virgin, our lost sister! 350 

Where may she wander now, whither betake her 
From the chill dew, amongst rude burs and thistles? 
Perhaps some cold bank is her bolster now. 
Or ■'gainst the rugged bark of some broad elm 
Leans her unpillowed head, fraught with sad fears. 
What if in wild amazement and affright, 
Or, while we speak, within the direful grasp 
Of savage hunger, or of savage heat! 

Eld. Bro. Peace, brother: be not over-exquisite 
To cast the fashion of uncertain evils ; 360 

For, grant they be so, while they rest unknown, 
What need a man forestall his date of grief, 
And run to meet what he would most avoid? 
Or, if they be but false alarms of fear. 
How bitter is such self-delusion! 
I do not think my sister so to seek, 
Or so unprincipled in virtue's book. 
And the sweet peace that goodness bosoms ever, 
As that the single want of light and noise 

(Not being in danger, as I trust she is not) 370 

Could stir the constant mood of her calm thoughts, 
And put them into misbecoming plight. 
Virtue could see to do what Virtue would 
By her own radiant light, though sun and moon 
Were in the flat sea sunk. And Wisdom's self 
Oft seeks to sweet retired solitude, 
Where, with her best nurse. Contemplation, 
She plumes her feathers, and lets grow her wings, 
That, in the various bustle of resort, 

Were all to-ruffled, and sometimes impaired. 380 

He that has light within his own clear breast 
May sit i' the centre, and enjoy bright day : 
But he that hides a dark soul and foul thoughts 
Benighted walks under the mid-day sun ; 
Himself is his own dungeon. 

Sec. Bro. . 'Tis most true 



COM us. 517 



That musing Meditation most affects 

The pensive secrecy of desert cell, 

Far from the cheerful haunt of men and herds, 

And sits as safe as in a senate-house ; 

For who would rob a hermit of his weeds, 390 

His few books, or his beads, or maple dish, 

Or do his grey hairs any violence? 

But Beauty, like the fair Hesperian tree 

Laden with blooming gold, had need the guard 

Of dragon-watch with unenchanted eye 

To save her blossoms, and defend her fruit, 

From the rash hand of bold Incontinence. 

You may as well spread out the unsunned heaps 

Of miser's treasure by an outlaw's den. 

And tell me it is safe, as bid me hope 400 

Danger will wink on Opportunity, 

And let a single helpless maiden pass 

Uninjured in this wild surrounding waste. 

Of night or loneliness it r^cks me not ; 

I fear the dread events that dog them both. 

Lest some ill-greeting touch attempt the person 

Of our unowned sister. 

Eld. Bro. I do not, brother, 

Infer as if I thought my sister's state 
Secure without all doubt or controversy ; 

Yet, where an equal poise of hope and fear 410 

Does arbitrate the event, my nature is 
That I incline to hope rather than fear. 
And gladly banish squint suspicion. 
My sister is not so defenceless left 
As you imagine ; she has a hidden strength, 
Which you remember not. 

Sec. Bro. What hidden strength, 

Unless the strength of Heaven, if you mean that? 

Eld. Bro. I mean that too, but yet a hidden strength. 
Which, if Heaven gave it, may be termed her own. 
'Tis chastity, my brother, chastity : 420 

She that has that is clad in complete steel, 
And, like a quivered nymph with arrows keen, 
May trace huge forests, and unharboured heaths, 
Infamous hills, and sandy perilous wilds ; 
Where, through the sacred rays of chastity, 
No savage fierce, bandite, or mountaineer. 
Will dare to soil her virgin purity. 
Yea, there where very desolation dwells, 
By grots and caverns shagged with horrid shades, 
She may pass on with unblenched majesty, 430 



COMUS. 



Be it not done in pride, or in presumption. 

Some say no evil tiling that walks by night, 

In fog or fire, by lake or moorish fen, 

Blue meagre hag, or stubborn unlaid ghost, 

That breaks his magic chains at curfew time, 

No goblin or swart faery of the mine. 

Hath hurtful power o'er true virginity. 

Do ye believe me yet, or shall I call 

Antiquity from the old schools of Greece 

To testify the arms of chastity? 440 

Hence had the huntress Dian her dread bow, 

Fair silver-shafted queen for ever chaste, 

Wherewith she tamed the brinded lioness 

And spotted mountain-pard, but set at nought 

The frivolous bolt of Cupid; gods and men 

Feared her stern frown, and she was queen o"' the woods. 

What was that snaky-headed Gorgon shield 

That wise Minerva wore, unconquered virgin, 

Wherewith she freezed her foes to congealed stone. 

But rigid looks of chaste austerity, 45° 

And noble grace that dashed brute violence 

With sudden adoration and blank awe? 

So dear to Heaven is saintly chastity 

That, when a soul is found sincerely so, 

A thousand liveried angels lackey her, 

Driving far off each thing of sin and guilt, 

And in clear dream and solemn vision 

Tell her of things that no gross ear can hear; 

Till oft converse with heavenly habitants 

Begin to cast a beam on the outward shape. 

The unpolluted temple of the mind. 

And turns it by degrees to the soul's essence. 

Till all be made immortal. But, when lust. 

By unchaste looks, loose gestures, and foul talk. 

But most by lewd and lavish act of sin, 

Lets in defilement to the inward parts. 

The soul growls clotted by contagion, 

Imbodies, and imbrutes, till she quite lose 

The divine property of her first being. 

Such are those thick and gloomy shadows damp 470 

Oft seen in charnel-vaults and sepulchres, 

Lingering and sitting by a new-made grave. 

As loth "to leave the body that it loved, 

And linked itself by carnal sensualty 

To a degenerate and degraded state. 

Sec. Bro. How charming is divine Philosophy ! 

Not harsh and crabbed, as dull fools suppose, 



460 



COMUS. 519 



But musical as is Apollo's lute, 

And a perpetual feast of nectared sweets, 

Where no crude surfeit reigns. 

Eld. Bro. List ! list ! I hear 480 

Some far-off hallo break the silent air. 

Sec. Bro. Methought so too; what should it be? 

Eld. Bro. For certain, 

Either some one, like us, night-foundered here. 
Or else some neighbour woodman, or, at worst. 
Some roving robber calling to his fellows. 

Sec. Bro. Heaven keep my sister! Again, again, and near! 
Best draw, and stand upon our guard. 

Eld. Bro. ril hallo. 

If he be friendly, he comes well : if not. 
Defence is a good cause, and Heaven be for us ! 



The Attendant Spirit, habited like a shepherd. 

That hallo I should know. What are you? speak. 490 

Come not too near; you fall on iron stakes else. 

Spir. What voice is that? my young lord? speak again. 

Sec. Bro. O brother, 'tis my father's Shepherd, sure. 

Eld. Bro. Thyrsis! whose artful strains have oft delayed 
The huddling brook to hear his madrigal. 
And sweetened every musk-rose of the dale. 
How camest thou here, good swain? Hath any ram 
Slipped from the fold, or young kid lost his dam, 
Or straggling wether the pent flock forsook? 
How couldst thou find this dark sequestered nook? 500 

Spir. O my loved masters heir, and his next joy, 
I came not here on such a trivial toy 
As a strayed ewe, or to pursue the stealth 
Of pilfering wolf; not all the fleecy wealth 
That doth enrich these downs is worth a thought 
To this my errand, and the care it brought. 
But, oh! my virgin Lady, where is she? 
How chance she is not in your company? 

Eld. Bro. To tell thee sadly. Shepherd, without blame 
Or our neglect, we lost her as we came. 510 

Spir. Ay me unhappy! then my fears are true. 

Eld. Bro. What fears, good Thyrsis? Prithee briefly shev/. 

Spir. ril tell ye. 'Tis not vain or fabulous 
(Though so esteemed by shallow ignorance) 
What the sage poets, taught by the heavenly Muse, 
Storied of old in high immortal verse 
Of dire Chimeras and enchanted isles, 



520 



COMUS. 



520 



530 



And rifted rocks whose entrance leads to Hell ; 
For such there be, but unbelief is blind. 
Within the navel of this hideous wood, 
Immured in cypress shades, a sorcerer dwells, 
Of Bacchus and of Circe born, great Comus, 
Deep skilled in all his mother's witcheries. 
And here to every thirsty wanderer 
By sly enticement gives his baneful cup, 
With many murmurs mixed, whose pleasing poison 
The visage quite transforms of him that drinks, 
And the inglorious likeness of a beast 
Fixes instead, unmoulding reason's mintage 
Charactered in the face. This have I learnt 
Tending my flocks hard by i' the hilly crofts 
That brow this bottom glade ; whence night by night 
He and his monstrous rout are heard to howl 
Like stabled wolves, or tigers at their prey, 
Doing abhorred rites to Hecate 
In their obscured haunts of inmost bowers. 
Yet have they many baits and guileful spells 
To inveigle and invite the unwary sense 
Of them that pass unweeting by the way. 
This evening late, by then the chewing flocks 
Had ta'en their supper on the savoury herb 
Of knot-grass dew-besprent, and were in fold, 
I sat me down to watch upon a bank 
With ivy canopied, and interwove 
With flaunting honeysuckle, and began, 
Wrapt in a pleasing fit of melancholy. 
To meditate my rural minstrelsy. 
Till fancy had her fill. But ere a close 
The wonted roar was up amidst the woods, 
And filled the air with barbarous dissonance ; 
At which I ceased, and listened them a while, 
Till an unusual stop of sudden silence 
Gave respite to the drowsy-flighted steeds 
That draw the litter of close-curtained Sleep. 
At last a soft and solemn-breathing sound 
Rose like a stream of rich distilled perfumes. 
And stole upon the air, that even Silence 
Was took ere she was ware, and wished she might 
Deny her nature, and be never more, 
Still to be so displaced. I was all ear, 
And took in strains that might create a soul 
Under the ribs of Death. But, oh! ere long 
Too well I did perceive it was the voice 
Of my most honoured Lady, your dear sister. 



540 



550 



560 



COMUS. 521 



Amazed I stood, harrowed with grief and fear ; 

And ' O poor hapless nightingale/ thought I, 

' How sweet thou sing'st, how near the deadly snare!' 

Then down the lawns I ran with headlong haste, 

Through paths and turnings often trod by day. 

Till, guided by mine ear, I found the place 570 

Where that damned wizard, hid in sly disguise 

(For so by certain signs I knew), had met 

Already, ere my best speed could prevent, 

The aidless innocent lady, his wished prey ; 

Who gently asked if he had seen such two, 

Supposing him some neighbour villager. 

Longer I durst not stay, but soon I guessed 

Ye were the two she meant ; with that I sprung 

Into swift flight, till I had found you here ; 

But further know I not. 

Sec. Bro. O night and shades, 580 

How are ye joined with hell in triple knot 
Against the unarmed weakness of one virgin, 
Alone and helpless! Is this the confidence 
You gave me, brother? 

Eld. Bro. Yes, and keep it still ; 

Lean on it safely ; not a period 
Shall be unsaid for me. Against the threats 
Of malice or of sorcery, or that power 
Which erring men call Chance, this I hold firm : 
Virtue may be assailed, but never hurt. 

Surprised by unjust force, but not enthralled ; 590 

Yea, even that which Mischief meant most harm 
Shall in the happy trial prove most glory. 
But evil on itself shall back recoil. 
And mix no more with goodness, when at last. 
Gathered like scum, and settled to itself. 
It shall be in eternal restless change 
Self-fed and self-consumed. If this fail. 
The pillared firmament is rottenness, 
And earth's base built on stubble. But come, let's on! 
Against the opposing will and arm of Heaven 600 

May never this just sword be lifted up ; 
But, for that damned magician, let him be girt 
With all the griesly legions that troop 
Under the sooty flag of Acheron, 
Harpies and Hydras, or all the monstrous forms 
'Twixt Africa and Ind, Til find him out. 
And force him to return his purchase back, 
Or drag him by the curls to a foul death, 
Cursed as his life. 



r 



522 COMUS. 



Spir. Alas! good venturous youth, 

I love thy courage yet, and bold emprise; 6io 

But here thy sword can do thee little stead. 
Far other arms and other weapons must 
Be those that quell the might of hellish charms. 
He with his bare wand can unthread thy joints, 
And crumble all thy sinews. 

Eld. Bro. Why, prithee, Shepherd, 

How durst thou then thyself approach so near 
As to make this relation? 

spir. Care and utmost shifts 

How to secure the Lady from surprisal 
Brought to my mind a certain shepherd lad, 
Of small regard to see to, yet well skilled ' 620 

In every virtuous plant and healing herb 
That spreads her verdant leaf to the morning ray. 
He loved me well, and oft would beg me sing; 
Which when I did, he on the tender grass 
Would sit, and hearken even to ecstasy. 
And in requital ope his leathern scrip. 
And show me simples of a thousand names. 
Telling their strange and vigorous faculties. 
Amongst the rest a small unsightly root. 

But of divine effect, he culled me out. 630 

The leaf was darkish, and had prickles on it. 
But in another country, as he said, 
Bore a bright golden flower, but not in this soil : 
Unknown, and like esteemed, and the dull swain 
Treads on it daily with his clouted shoon ; 
And yet more med'cinal is it than that Moly 
That Hermes once to wise Ulysses gave. 
He called it Haemony, and gave it me, 
And bade me keep it as of sovran use 

'Gainst all enchantments, mildew blast, or damp, 640 

Or ghastly Furies' apparition. 
I pursed it up, but little reckoning made, 
Till now that this extremity compelled. 
But now I find it true ; for by this means 
I knew the foul enchanter, though disguised. 
Entered the very lime-twigs of his spells. 
And yet came off. If you have this about you 
(As I will give you when we go) you may 
Boldly assault the necromancer's hall ; 

Where if he be, with dauntless hardihood 650 

And brandished blade rush on him : break his glass, 
And shed the luscious liquor on the ground ; 
But seize his wand. Though he and his curst crew 



COMUS. 523 



Fierce sign of battle make, and menace high, 
Or, like the sons of Vulcan, vomit smoke, 
Yet will they soon retire, if he but shrink. 

Eld. Bro. Thyrsis, lead on apace ; Til follow thee ; 
And some good angel bear a shield before us! 

The Scene changes to a stately palace, set out with all maniier of deliciousness: soft 
vmsic, tables spread with all dainties. Comus appears with his rabble, and the 
Lady set in an enchanted chair: to whom he offers his glass; which she puts by, and 
goes about to rise. 

Co7nus. Nay, Lady, sit. If I but wave this wand, 
Your nerves are all chained up in alabaster, 660 

And you a statue, or as Daphne was. 
Root-bound, that fled Apollo. 

Lady. Fool, do not boast. 

Thou canst not touch the freedom of my mind 
With all thy charms, although this corporal rind 
Thou hast immanacled while Heaven sees good. 

Coimcs. Why are you vexed. Lady? why do you frown? 
Here dwell no frowns, nor anger ; from these gates 
Sorrow flies far. See, here be all the pleasures 
That fancy can beget on youthful thoughts, 
When the fresh blood grows lively, and returns 670 

Brisk as the April buds in primrose season. 
And first behold this cordial julep here. 
That flames and dances in his crystal bounds. 
With spirits of balm and fragrant symps mixed. 
Not that Nepenthes which the wife of Thone 
In Egypt gave to Jove-born Helena 
Is of such power to stir up joy as this, 
To life so friendly, or so cool to thirst. 
Why should you be so cruel to yourself. 

And to those dainty limbs, which Nature lent 680 

For gentle usage and soft delicacy? 
But you invert the covenants of her trust, 
And harshly deal, like an ill borrower, 
With that which you received on other terms, 
Scorning the unexempt condition 
By which all mortal frailty must subsist. 
Refreshment after toil, ease after pain. 
That have been tired all day without repast. 
And timely rest have wanted. But, fair virgin, 
This will restore all soon. 

Lady. 'Twill not, false traitor! 690 

'Twill not restore the truth and honesty 
That thou hast banished from thy tongue with lies. 
Was this the cottage and the safe abode 



524 COMUS. 



Thou told^st me of? What grim aspects are these, 

These oiighly-headed monsters? Mercy guard me! 

Hence with thy brewed enchantments, foul deceiver! 

Hast thou betrayed my credulous innocence 

With vizored falsehood and base forgery? 

And wouldst thou seek again to trap me here 

With liquorish baits, fit to ensnare a brute? 700 

Were it a draught for Juno when she banquets, 

I would not taste thy treasonous offer. None 

But such as are good men can give good things ; 

And that which is not good is not delicious 

To a well-governed and wise appetite. 

Coifms. O foolishness of men! that lend their ears 
To those budge doctors of the Stoic fur, 
And fetch their precepts from the Cynic tub. 
Praising the lean and sallow Abstinence! 

Wherefore did Nature pour her bounties forth 710 

With such a full and unwithdrawing hand, 
Covering the earth with odours, fmits, and Hocks, 
Thronging the seas with spawn innumerable, 
But all to please and sate the curious taste? 
And set to work millions of spinning worms, 
That in their green shops weave the smooth-haired silk. 
To deck her sons ; and, that no corner might 
Be vacant of her plenty, in her own loins 
She hutched the all-worshiped ore and precious gems, 
To store her children with. If all the world 720 

Should, in a pet of temperance, feed on pulse. 
Drink the clear stream, and nothing wear but frieze. 
The All-giver would be unthanked, would be unpraised, 
Not half his riches known, and yet despised ; 
And we should serve him as a grudging master, 
As a penurious niggard of his wealth. 
And live like Nature's bastards, not her sons. 
Who would be quite surcharged with her own weight. 
And strangled with her waste fertility : 

The earth cumbered, and the winged air darked with plumes. 
The herds would over-multitude their lords; 731 

The sea o'erfraught would swell, and the unsought diamonds 
Would so emblaze the forehead of the deep. 
And so bestud with stars, that they below 
Would grow inured to light, and come at last 
To gaze upon the sun with shameless brows. 
List, Lady ; be not coy, and be not cozened 
With that same vaunted name. Virginity. 
Beauty is Nature's coin ; must not be hoarded, 
But must be current; and the good thereof 740 



COMUS, 525 



Consists in mutual and partaken bliss, 
Unsavouiy in the enjoyment of itself. 
If you let slip time, like a neglected rose 
It withers on the stalk with languished head. 
Beauty is Nature's brag, and must be shown 
In courts, at feasts, and high solemnities. 
Where most may wonder at the workmanship. 
It is for homely features to keep home ; 
They had their name thence : coarse complexions 
And cheeks of sorry grain will serve to ply 750 

The sampler, and to tease the huswife's wool. 
What need a vermeil-tinctured lip for that. 
Love-darting eyes, or tresses like the morn? 
There was another meaning in these gifts ; 
Think what, and be advised ; you are but young yet. 
Lady. I had not thought to have unlocked my lips 
In this unhallowed air, but that this juggler 
Would think to charm my judgment, as mine eyes, 
Obtruding false rules pranked in reason's garb. 
I hate when vice can bolt her argumicnts 760 

And virtue has no tongue to check her pride. 
Impostor ! do not charge most innocent Nature, 
As if she would her children should be riotous 
With her abundance. She, good cateress, 
Means her provision only to the good, 
That live according to her sober laws, 
And holy dictate of spare Temperance. 
If every just man that now pines with want 
Had but a moderate and beseeming share 

Of that which lewdly-pampered Luxury 770 

Now heaps upon some few with vast excess. 
Nature's full blessings would be well-dispensed 
In unsuperfluous even proportion, 
And she no whit encumbered with her store ; 
And then the Giver would be better thanked, 
His praise due paid : for .swinish gluttony 
Ne'er looks to Heaven amidst his gorgeous feast, 
But with besotted base ingratitude 
Crams, and blasphemes his Feeder. Shall I go on? 
Or have I said enow? To him that dares 780 

Arm his profane tongue with contemptuous words 
Against the sun-clad power of chastity 
Fain would I something say; — yet to what end? 
Thou hast nor ear, nor soul, to apprehend 
The sublime notion and high mystery 
That must be uttered to unfold the sage 
And serious doctrine of Virginity ; 



526 COMUS. 



And thou art worthy that thou shouldst not know 

More happiness than this thy present lot. 

Enjoy your dear wit, and gay rhetoric, 790 

That hath so well been taught her dazzling fence ; 

Thou art not fit to hear thyself convinced. 

Yet, should I try, the uncontrolled worth 

Of this pure cause would kindle my rapt spirits 

To such a flame of sacred vehemence 

That dumb things would be moved to sympathize, 

And the brute Earth would lend her nerves, and shake, 

Till all thy magic structures, reared so high, 

Were shattered into heaps o'er thy false head. 

Co7mis. She fables not. I feel that I do fear 800 

Her words set off by some superior power ; 
And, though not mortal, yet a cold shuddering dew 
Dips me all o'er, as when the wrath of Jove 
Speaks thunder and the chains of Erebus 
To some of Saturn's crew. I must dissemble, 
And try her yet more strongly. — Come, no more! 
This is mere moral babble, and direct 
Against the canon laws of our foundation. 
I must not suffer this ; yet 'tis but the lees 

And settlings of a melancholy blood. 810 

But this will cure all straight ; one sip of this 
Will bathe the drooping spirits in delight 
Beyond the bliss of dreams. Be wise, and taste . . . 

The Brothers rush in ivith swords drawn, wrest his glass out of his hand, and 
break it against the ground : his rout make sign of resistance, but are all driven in. 
The Attendant Spirit comes in. 

Spir. What ! have you let the false enchanter scape? 
O ye mistook ; ye should have snatched his wand, 
And bound him fast. Without his rod reversed, 
And backward mutters of dissevering power, 
We cannot free the Lady that sits here 
In stony fetters fixed and motionless. 

Yet stay : be not disturbed ; now I bethink me, 820 

Some other means I have which may be used, 
Which once of Meliboeus old I learnt. 
The soothest shepherd that e'er piped on plains. 

There is a gentle Nymph not far from hence, 
That with moist curb sways the smooth Severn stream : 
Sabrina is her name : a virgin pure ; 
Whilom she was the daughter of Locrine, 
That had the sceptre from his father Brute. 
She, guiltless damsel, flying the mad pursuit 



COMUS. 



527 



Of her enraged stepdame, Guendolen, 830 

Commended her fair innocence to the flood 

That stayed her flight with his cross-flowing course. 

The water-nymphs, that in the bottom played, 

Held up their pearled wrists, and took her in, 

Bearing her straight to aged Nereus' hall ; 

Who, piteous of her woes, reared her lank head, 

And gave her to his daughters to imbathe 

In nectared lavers strewed with asphodil. 

And through the porch and inlet of each sense 

Dropt in ambrosial oils, till she revived, 840 

And underwent a quick immortal change. 

Made Goddess of the river. Still she retains 

Her maiden gentleness, and oft at eve 

Visits the herds along the twilight meadows, 

Helping all urchin blasts, and ill-luck signs 

That the shrewd meddling elf delights to make, 

Which she with precious vialed liquors heals : 

For which the shepherds, at their festivals, 

Carol her goodness loud in rustic lays, 

And throw sweet garland wreaths into her stream 850 

Of pansies, pinks, and gaudy daffodils. 

And, as the old swain said, she can unlock 

The clasping charm, and thaw the numbing spell. 

If she be right invoked in warbled song ; 

For maidenhood she loves, and will be swift 

To aid a virgin, such as was herself. 

In hard-besetting need. This will I try. 

And add the power of some adjuring verse. 

Song. 

Sabrina fair. 

Listen where thou art sitting 860 

Under the glassy, cool, translucent wave. 

In twisted braids of lilies knitting 
The loose train of thy amber-dropping hair; 

Listen for dear honours sake, 

Goddess of the silver lake, 
Listen and save! 

Listen, and appear to us, 

In name of great Oceanus, 

By the earth-shaking Neptune's mace, 

And Tethys' grave majestic pace ; 870 

By hoary Nereus' wrinkled look. 

And the Carpathian wizard's hook; 



528 



COMUS. 



By scaly Triton's winding shell, 

And old soothsaying Glaucus' spell ; 

By Leucothea's lovely hands, 

And her son that rules the strands ; 

By Thetis' tinsel-slippered feet, 

And the songs of Sirens sweet ; 

By dead Parthenope's dear tomb, 

And fair Ligea's golden comb, 880 

Wherewith she sits on diamond rocks 

Sleeking her soft alluring locks ; 

By all the nymphs that nightly dance 

Upon thy streams with wily glance ; 

Rise, rise, and heave thy rosy head 

From thy coral-paven bed, 

And bridle in thy headlong wave, 

Till thou our summons answered have. 

Listen and save ! 



Sabrina rises, attended by Water-nyviphs , and sings. 

By the rushy-fringed bank, 890 

Where grows the willow and the osier dank, 

My sliding chariot stays. 
Thick set with agate, and the azurn sheen 
Of turkis blue, and emerald green, 

That in the channel strays : 
Whilst from off the waters fleet 
Thus I set my printless feet 
O'er the cowslip's velvet head, 

That bends not as I tread. 
Gentle swain, at thy request 900 

I am here ! 

Spir. Goddess dear. 
We implore thy powerful hand 
To undo the charmed band 
Of true virgin here distressed 
Through the force and through the wile 
Of unblessed enchanter vile. 

Sabr. Shepherd, 'tis my office best 
To help ensnared chastity. 

Brightest Lady, look on me. 910 

Thus I sprinkle on thy breast 
Drops that from my fountain pure 
I have kept of precious cure ; 
Thrice upon thy finger's tip. 
Thrice upon thy rubied lip : 
Next this marble venomed seat, 



COMUS. 



529 



Smeared with gums of glutinous heat, 

I touch with chaste palms moist and cold. 

Now the spell hath lost his hold ; 

And I must haste ere morning hour 920 

To wait in Amphitrite's bower. 

Sabrina descends, and the Lady rises out of her seat. 

Spir. Virgin, daughter of Locrine, 
Spmng of old Anchises' line, 
May thy brimmed waves for this 
Their full tribute never miss 
From a thousand petty rills. 
That tumble down the snowy hills : 
Summer drouth or singed air 
Never scorch thy tresses fair, 

Nor wet October's torrent flood 930 

Thy molten crystal fill with mud; 
May thy billows roll ashore 
The beryl and the golden ore; 
May thy lofty head be crowned 
With many a tower and terrace round, 
And here and there thy banks upon 
With groves of myrrh and cinnamon. 

Come, Lady; while Heaven lends us grace, 
Let us fly this cursed place. 

Lest the sorcerer us entice 940 

With some other new device. 
Not a waste or needless sound 
Till we come to holier ground. 
I shall be your faithful guide 
Through this gloomy covert wide ; 
And not many furlongs thence 
Is your Father^'s residence. 
Where this night are met in state 
Many a friend to gratulate 

His wished presence, and beside 950 

All the swains that there abide 
With jigs and rural dance resort. 
We shall catch them at their sport. 
And our sudden coming there 
Will double all their mirth and cheer. 
Come, let us haste ; the stars grow high. 
But Night sits monarch yet in the mid sky. 

The Scene changes, presenting Ludlow Town, and the President's Castle: then come 
in Country Dancers; after them the Attendant Spirit,, wzVA the two Brothers 
and THE Lady. 



530 COMUS. 






Song. 

Spir. Back, shepherds, back ! Enough your play 
Till next sun-shine holiday. 

Here be, without duck or nod, 960 

Other trippings to be trod 
Of lighter toes, and such court guise 
As Mercury did first devise 
With the mincing Dryades 
On the lawns and on the leas. 



This second Song presents them to their Father and Mother. 

Noble Lord and Lady bright, 
I have brought ye new delight. 
Here behold so goodly grown 
Three fair branches of your own. 

Heaven hath timely tried their youth, 970 

Their faith, their patience, and their truth, 
And sent them here through hard assays 
With a crown of deathless praise, 
To triumph in victorious dance 
O'er sensual folly and intemperance. 

The dances ended, the Spirit epiloguizes. 

spir. To the ocean now I fly. 
And those happy climes that lie 
Where day never shuts his eye. 
Up in the broad fields of the sky. 

There I suck the liquid air, 980 

All amidst the gardens fair 
Of Hesperus, and his daughters three 
That sing about the golden tree. 
Along the crisped shades and bowers 
Revels the spruce and jocund Spring ; 
The Graces and the rosy-bosomed Hours 
Thither all their bounties bring. 
There eternal Summer dwells, 
And west winds with musky wing 

About the cedarn alleys fling 990 

Nard and cassia's balmy smells. 
Iris there with humid bow 
Waters the odorous banks, that blow 
Flowers of more mingled hue 
Than her purfled scarf can shew. 
And drenches with Elysian dew 



COMUS. 531 



(List, mortals, if your ears be true) 

Beds of hyacinth and roses, 

Where young Adonis oft reposes. 

Waxing well of his deep wound, 1000 

In slumbers soft, and on the ground 

Sadly sits the Assyrian queen. 

But far above, in spangled sheen, 

Celestial Cupid, her famed son, advanced 

Holds his dear Psyche, sweet entranced 

After her wandering labours long. 

Till free consent the gods among 

Make her his eternal bride. 

And from her fair unspotted side 

Two blissful twins are to be born, loi© 

Youth and Joy; so Jove hath sworn. 

But now my task is smoothly done : 
I can fly, or I can run 
Quickly to the green earth's end. 
Where the bowed welkin slow doth bend, 
And from thence can soar as soon 
To the corners of the moon. 
Mortals, that would follow me, 
Love Virtue ; she alone is free. 

She can teach ye how to climb 1020 

Higher than the sphery chime ; 
Or, if Virtue feeble were. 
Heaven itself would stoop to her. 



532 LVC/DAS. 



LYCIDAS. 



In this Monody the Author bewails a learned Friend, unfortunately drowned in his passage 
from Chester on the Irish Seas, 1637; and, by occasion, foretells the ruin of our corrupted 
Clergy, then in their height. 

Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more, 

Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, 

I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, 

And with forced fingers rude 

Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year. 

Bitter constraint and sad occasion dear 

Compels me to disturb your season due ; 

For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime, 

Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer. 

Who would not sing for Lycidas? he knew lo 

Himself to sing, and build the lofty rhyme. 

He must not float upon his watery bier 

Unwept, and welter to the parching wind. 

Without the meed of some melodious tear. 

Begin, then, Sisters of the sacred well 
That from beneath the seat of Jove doth spring; 
Begin, and somewhat loudly sweep the string. 
Hence with denial vain and coy excuse : 
So may some gentle Muse 

With lucky words favour ;//y destined urn, 20 

And as he passes turn. 
And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud ! 

For we were nursed upon the self-same hill. 
Fed the same flock, by fountain, shade, and rill ; 
Together both, ere the high lawns appeared 
Under the opening eyelids of the Morn, 
We drove a-field, and both together heard 
What time the grey-fly winds her sultry horn. 
Battening our flocks with the fresh dews of night. 
Oft till the star that rose at evening bright ^ 30 

Toward heaven's descent had sloped his westering wheel. 
Meanwhile the rural ditties were not mute ; 
Tempered to the oaten flute 

Rough Satyrs danced, and Fauns with cloven heel 
From the glad sound would not be absent long; 



LYCIDAS. 



533 



And old Damoetas loved to hear our song. 

But, oh ! the heavy change, now thou art gone, 
Now thou art gone and never must return ! 
Thee, Shepherd, thee the woods and desert caves, 
With wild thyme and the gadding vine overgrown, 40 

And all their echoes, mourn. 
The willows, and the hazel copses green. 
Shall now no more be seen 
Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays. 
As killing as the canker to the rose, 
Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that graze, 
Or frost to flowers, that their gay wardrobe wear. 
When first the white-thorn blows ; 
Such, Lycidas, thy loss to shepherd's ear. 

Where were ye, Nymphs, when the remorseless deep 50 

Closed o'er the head of your loved Lycidas? 
For neither were ye playing on the steep 
Where your old bards, the famous Druids, lie, 
Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high, 
Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream. 
Ay me ! I fondly dream 

" Had ye been there," ... for what could that have done ? 
What could the Muse herself that Orpheus bore, 
The Muse herself, for her enchanting son. 

Whom universal nature did lament, 60 

When, by the rout that made the hideous roar, 
His gory visage down the stream was sent, 
Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore? 

Alas ! what boots it with uncessant care 
To tend the homely, slighted, shepherd's trade. 
And strictly meditate the thankless Muse? 
Were it not better done, as others use. 
To sport with Amaryllis in the shade, 
Or with the tangles of Neaera's hair? 

Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise 70 

(That last infirmity of noble mind) 
To scorn delights and live laborious days ; 
But the fair guerdon when we hope to find, 
And think to burst out into sudden blaze. 
Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred shears. 
And slits the thin-spun life. " But rfbt the praise," 
Phoebus replied, and touched my trembling ears : 
" Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil, 
Nor in the glistering foil 

Set oiT to the world, nor in broad rumour lies, 80 

But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes 
And perfect witness of all-judging Jove; 



534 LYCWAS. 



A's he pronounces lastly on each deed, 

Of so much fame in heaven expect thy meed." 

O fountain Arethuse, and thou honoured flood, 
Smooth-sliding Mincius, crowned with vocal reeds. 
That strain I heard was of a higher mood. 
But now my oat proceeds. 
And listens to the Herald of the Sea, 

That came in Neptune's plea. 90 

He asked the waves, and asked the felon winds. 
What hard mishap hath doomed this gentle swain? 
And questioned every gust of rugged wings 
That blows from off each beaked promontory. 
They knew not of his story ; 
And sage Hippotades their answer brings, 
That not a blast was from his dungeon strayed: 
The air was calm, and on the level brine 
Sleek Panope with all her sisters played. 

It was that fatal and perfidious bark, lOO 

Built in the eclipse, and rigged with curses dark. 
That sunk so low that sacred head of thine. 

Next, Camus, reverend sire, went footing slow, • 
His mantle hairy, and his bonnet sedge. 
Inwrought with figures dim, and on the edge 
Like to that sanguine flower inscribed with woe. 
"Ah ! who hath reft," quoth he, "my dearest pledge?" 
Last came, and last did go, 
The Pilot of the Galilean Lake ; 

Two massy keys he bore of metals twain 1 10 

(The golden opes, the iron shuts amain). 
He shook his mitred locks, and stern bespake : — 
" How well could I have spared for thee, young swain, 
Enow of such as, for their bellies' sake. 
Creep, and intrude, and climb into the fold ! 
Of other care they little reckoning make 
Than how to scramble at the shearers' feast. 
And shove away the worthy bidden guest. 
Blind mouths! that scarce themselves know how to hold 
A sheep-hook, or have learnt aught else the least 120 

That to the faithful herdman's art belongs! 
What recks it them ? What need they ? They are sped ; 
And, when they list, 4heir lean and flashy songs 
Grate on their scrannel pipes of Avretched straw ; 
The hungry sheep look up, and are not fed. 
But, swoln with wind and the rank mist they draw, 
Rot inwardly, and foul contagion spread ; 
Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw 
Daily devours apace, and nothing said. 



LYCIDAS. 535 



But that two-handed engine at the door 130 

Stands reaSy to smite once, and smite no more." 

Return, Alpheus ; the dread voice is past 
That shrunk thy streams ; return, Sicilian Muse, 
And call the vales, and bid them hither cast 
Their bells and flowerets of a thousand hues. 
Ye valleys low, where the mild whispers use 
Of shades, and wanton winds, and gushing brooks, 
On whose fresh lap the swart star sparely looks, 
Throw hither all your quaint enamelled eyes. 
That on the green turf suck the honeyed showers, 140 

And purple all the ground with vernal flowers. 
Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies. 
The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine, 
The white pink, and the pansy freaked with jet, 
The glowing violet, 

The musk-rose, and the well-attired woodbine, 
With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head. 
And every flower that sad embroidery wears ; 
Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed. 

And daifadillies fill their cups with tears, 150 

To strew the laureate hearse where Lycid lies. 
For so, to interpose a little ease, 
Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise. 
Ay me ! whilst thee the shores and sounding seas 
Wash far away, where'er thy bones are hurled ; 
Whether beyond the .stormy Hebrides, 
Where thou perhaps under the whelming tide 
Visit'st the bottom of the monstrous world ; 
Or whether thou, to our moist vows denied, 
Sleep'st by the fable of Bellerus old, 160 

Where the great Vision of the guarded mount 
Looks toward Namancos and Bayona's hold. 
Look homeward. Angel, now, and melt with ruth : 
And, O ye dolphins, waft the hapless youth. 

Weep no more, woeful shepherds, weep no more, 
For Lycidas, your sorrow, is not dead, 
Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor. 
So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed, 
And yet anon repairs his drooping head, 

And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore 170 

Flames in the forehead of the morning sky : 
So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high. 
Through the dear might of Him that walked the waves, 
Where, other groves and other streams along. 
With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves, 
And hears the unexpressive nuptial song. 



536 LYCWAS. 



In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love. 

There entertain him all the Saints above, 

In solemn troops, and sweet societies, 

That sing, and singing in their glory move, i8o 

And wipe the tears for ever from his eyes. 



Henceforth thou art the Genius of the shore. 
In thy large recompense, and shalt be good 
To all that wander in that perilous flood. 



Thus sang the uncouth swain to the oaks and rills. 
While the still morn went out with sandals grey: 
He touched the tender stops of various quills, 
With eager thought warbling his Doric lay : 
And now the sun had stretched out all the hills, 190 

And now was dropt into the western bay. 
At last he rose, and twitched his mantle blue : 
To-morrow to fresh woods, and pastures new. 



SONNETS. ~ 537 



SONNETS. 



[to the nightingale.] 

O Nightingale that on yon bloomy spray 

Warblest at eve, when all the woods are still, 
Thou with fresh hope the lover's heart dost fill, 
While the jolly hours lead on propitious May. 

Thy liquid notes that close the eye of day, 

First heard before the shallow cuckoo's bill. 
Portend success in love. O, if Jove's will 
Have linked that amorous power to thy soft lay. 

Now timely sing, ere the mde bird of hate 

Foretell my hopeless doom, in some grove nigh ; 
As thou from year to year hast sung too late 

For my relief, yet hadst no reason why. 

Whether the Muse or Love called thee his mate, 
Both them I serve, and of their train am I. 



[on his having arrived at the age of twenty-three.] 

How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth. 
Stolen on his wing my three-and-twentieth year 
My hasting days fly on with full career, 
But my late spring no bud or blossom shew'th. 

Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth 
That I to manhood am arrived so near ; 
And inward ripeness doth much less appear. 
That some more timely-happy spirits endu'th. 

Yet, be it less or more, or soon or slow, 

It shall be still in strictest measure even 
To that same lot, however mean or high. 

Toward which Time leads me, and the will of Heaven. 
All is, if I have grace to use it so, 
As ever in my great Task-Master's eye. 



538 SONNETS. 



III. 

Donna leggiadra, il cui bel nome onora 
L' erbosa val di Reno e il nobil varco, 
Bene e colui d^ ogni valore scarce 
Qual tuo spirto gentil non innamora, 

Che dolcemente mostrasi di fuora, 
De' sui atti soavi giammai parco, 
E i don\ che son d' amor saette ed arco, 
La onde V alta tua virtu s' infiora. 

Quando tu vaga parli, o lieta canti, 

Clie mover possa duro alpestre legno, 
Guardi ciascun agli occhi ed agli orecchi 

L' entrata chi di te si truova indegno ; 
. Grazia sola di su gli vaglia, innanti 
Che '1 disio amoroso al cuor s' invecchi. 



IV. 

Qual in colle aspro, alP imbrunir di sera, 
L 'avezza giovinetta pastorella 
Va bagnando V erbetta strana e bella 
Che mal si spande a disusata spera 

Fuor di sua natia alma primavera, 

Cosi Amor meco insu la lingua snella 
Desta il fior novo di strania favella, 
Mentre io di te, vezzosamente altera, 

Canto, dal mio buon popol non inteso, 

E '1 bel Tamigi cangio col belP Arno. 
Amor lo volse, ed io all' altrui peso 

Seppi ch"* Amor cosa mai volse indarno. 
Deh! foss' il mio cuor lento e '1 duro 
A chi pianta dal ciel si buon terreno. 



CANZONE. 

RiDONSi donne e giovani amorosi 

M' accostandosi attorno, e 'Perche scrivi, 

Perche tu scrivi in lingua ignota e strana 

Verseggiando d' amor, e come f osi? 

Dinne, se la tua speme sia mai yana, 

E de' pensieri lo miglior t' arrivi ! ' - 

Cosi mi van burlando : ' altri rivi, 

Altri lidi t' aspettan, ed altre onde, 

Nelle cui verdi sponde 

Spuntati ad or ad or alia tua chioma 



SONNETS. 539 



L' immortal guiderdon d' eterne frondi. 
Perche alle spalle tue soverchia soma?' 

Canzon, dirotti, e tu per me rispondi : 
' Dice mia Donna, e '1 suo dir e il mio cuore, 
" Questa e lingua di cui si vanta Amore." ' 



V. 

DiODATi (e te '1 diro con maraviglia), 

Quel ritroso io, ch' amor spreggiar solea 

E de' suoi lacci spesso mi ridea, 

Gia caddi, ov' uom dabben talor s' impiglia. 

N^ treccie d' oro ne guancia vermiglia 
M' abbaglian si, ma sotto nova idea 
Pellegrina bellezza che '1 cuor bea, 
Portamenti alti onesti, e nelle ciglia 

Quel sereno fulgor d' amabil nero, 

Parole adorne di lingua piu d'una, 
E '1 cantar che di mezzo V emispero 

Traviar ben puo la faticosa Luna; 

E degli occhi suoi avventa si gran fuoco 
Che r incerar gli orecchi mi fia poco. 



VI. 

Per certo i bei vostr' occhi, Donna mia, 

Esser non puo che non sian lo mio sole ; 
Si mi percuoton forte, come ei suole 
Per r arene di Libia chi s' invia, 

Mentre un caldo vapor (n^ sent! pria) 
Da quel lato si spinge ove mi duole, 
Che forse amanti nelle lor parole 
Chiaman sospir ; io non so che si sia. 

Parte rinchiusa e turbida si cela 

Scossomi il petto, e poi n' uscendo poco 
Quivi d' attorno o s' agghiaccia o s' ingiela; 

Ma quanto agli occhi giunge a trovar loco 
Tutte le notti a me suoi far piovose, 
Finch^ mia alba rivien colma di rose. 



VII. 

GiOVANE, piano, e semplicetto amante, 

Poich^ fuggir me stesso in dubbio sono, 
Madonna, a voi del mio cuor V umil dono 
Faro divoto. Io certo a prove tante 



540 SONNETS. 



L' ebbi fedele, intrepido, costante, 

Di pensieri leggiadro, accorto, e biiono. 
Quando rugge il gran mondo, e scocca il tuono, 
S' arma di se, e d^ intero diamante, 

Tanto del forse e d' invidia sicuro, 

Di timori, e speranze al popol use, 
Quanto d' ingegno e d' alto valor vago, 

E di cetra sonora, e delle Muse. 

Sol troverete in tal parte men duro 
Ove Amor mise V insanabil ago. 



WHEN THE ASSAULT WAS INTENDED TO THE CITY. 

Captain or Colonel, or Knight in Arms, 

Whose chance on these defenceless doors may seize. 

If deed of honour did thee ever please, 

Guard them, and him within protect from harms. 

He can requite thee ; for he knows the charms 
That call fame on such gentle acts as these. 
And he can spread thy name o'er lands and seas, 
Whatever clime the sun's bright circle warms. 

Lift not thy spear against the Muses' bower: 
The great Emathian conqueror bid spare 
The house of Pindarus, when temple and tower 

Went to the ground ; and the repeated air 
Of sad Electra's poet had the power 
To save the Athenian walls from ruin bare. 



IX. 

[to a virtuous young lady.] 

Lady, that in the prime of earliest youth 

Wisely hast shunned the broad way and the green, 

And with those few art eminently seen 

That labour up the hill of heavenly Truth, 
The better part with Mary and with Ruth 

Chosen thou hast ; and they that overween, 

And at thy growing virtues fret their spleen, 

No anger find in thee, but pity and ruth. 
Thy care is fixed, and zealously attends i 

To fill thy odorous lamp with deeds of light, ! 

And hope that reaps not shame. Therefore be sure j 

Thou, when the Bridegroom with his feastful friends | 

Passes to bliss at the mid-hour of night, ( 

Hast gained thy entrance. Virgin wise and pure. | 



SONNETS. 



541 



X. 

TO THE LADY MARGARET LEY. 

Daughter to that good Earl, once President 
Of England's Council and her Treasury, 
Who lived in both unstained with gold or fee, 
And left them both, more in himself content, 

Till the sad breaking of that Parliament 
Broke him, as that dishonest victory 
At Chaeronea, fatal to liberty. 
Killed with report that old man eloquent, 

Though later born than to have known the days 
Wherein your father flourished, yet by you. 
Madam, methinks I see him living yet : 

So well your words his noble virtues praise 

That all both judge you to relate them true 
And to possess them, honoured Margaret. 

XI. 

ON THE DETRACTION WHICH FOLLOWED UPON MY WRITING 
CERTAIN TREATISES. 

A BOOK was writ of late called Tetrachordon, 

And woven close, both matter, form, and style ; 
The subject new : it walked the town a while, 
Numbering good intellects ; now seldom pored on. 

Cries the stall-reader, " Bless us ! what a word on 
A title-page is this !"; and some in file 
Stand spelling false, while one might walk to Mile- 
End Green. Why, is it harder, sirs, than Gordon, 

Colkitto, or Macdofmel, or Galasp ? 

Those rugged names to our like mouths grow sleek 
That would have made Ouintilian stare and gasp. 

Thy age, like ours, O soul of Sir John Cheek, 
Hated not learning worse than toad or asp. 
When thou taught'st Cambridge and King Edward Greek. 

XII. 

ON THE SAME. 

I DID but prompt the age to quit their clogs 
By the known rules of ancient liberty, 
When straight a barbarous noise environs me 
Of owls and cuckoos, asses, apes, and dogs ; 

As when those hinds that were transformed to frogs 



542 SONNETS. 



Railed at Latona's twin-born progeny, 
Which after held the Sun and Moon in fee. 
But this is got by casting pearl to hogs, 

That bawl for freedom in their senseless mood, 

And still revolt when Truth would set them free 
Licence they mean when they cry Liberty ; 

For who loves that must first be wise and good : 
But from that mark how far they rove we see, 
For all this waste of wealth and loss of blood. 



ON THE NEW FORCERS OF CONSCIENCE UNDER THE LONG 
PARLIAMENT. 

Because you have thrown off your Prelate Lord, 
And with stiff vows renounced his Liturgy, 
To seize the widowed whore Plurality 
From them whose sin ye envied, not abhorred, 

Dare ye for this adjure the civil sword 

To force our consciences that Christ set free, 
And ride us with a Classic Hierarchy, 
Taught ye by mere A. S. and Rutherford? 

Men whose life, learning, faith, and pure intent. 

Would have been held in high esteem with Paul 
Must now be named and printed heretics 

By shallow Edwards and Scotch What-d'ye-call ! 
But we do hope to find out all your tricks, 
Your plots and packing, worse than those of Trent, 
That so the Parliament 

May with their wholesome and preventive shears 

Clip your phylacteries, though baulk your ears. 
And succour our just fears. 

When they shall read this clearly in your charge : 

New Presbyter is but old Priest writ large. 



XIII. 

TO MR. H. LAWES ON HIS AIRS. 

Harry, whose tuneful and well-measured song 
First taught our English music how to span 
Words with just note and accent, not to scan 
With Midas' ears, committing short and long, 

Thy worth and skill exempts thee from the throng. 
With praise enough for Envy to look wan ; 
To after age thou shalt be writ the man 
That with smooth air couldst humour best our tongue. 



SONNETS. 543 



I 



Thou honour'st Verse, and Verse must send her wing 
To honour thee, the priest of Phoebus' quire, 
That tunest their happiest lines in hymn or story. 

Dante shall give Fame leave to set thee higher 
Than his Casella, whom he wooed to sing, 
Met in the milder shades of Purgatory. 



xrv. 

ON THE RELIGIOUS MEMORY OF MRS. CATHERINE THOMSON, MY 
CHRISTIAN FRIEND, DECEASED DEC. l6, 1646. 

When Faith and Love, which parted from thee never, 
Had ripened thy just soul to dwell with God, 
Meekly thou didst resign this earthy load 
Of death, called life, which us from life doth sever. 

Thy works, and alms, and all thy good endeavour, 
Stayed not behind, nor in the grave were trod ; 
But, as Faith pointed with her golden rod. 
Followed thee up to joy and bliss for ever. 

Love led them on ; and Faith, who knew them best 
Thy handmaids, clad them o'er with purple beams 
And azure wings, that up they flew so drest, 

And speak the truth of thee on glorious themes 

Before the Judge ; who thenceforth bid thee rest. 
And drink thy fill of pure immortal streams. 



XV. 

ON THE LORD GENERAL FAIRFAX, AT THE SIEGE OF COLCHESTER. 

Fairfax, whose name in arms through Europe rings, 
Filling each mouth with envy or with praise. 
And all her jealous monarchs with amaze, 
And rumours loud that daunt remotest kings, 

Thy firm unshaken virtue ever brings 

Victory home, though new rebellions raise 
Their Hydra heads, and the false North displays 
Her broken league to imp their serpent wings. 

O yet a nobler task awaits thy hand 

(For what can war but endless war still breed?) 
Till truth and right -from violence be freed, 

And public faith cleared from the shameful brand 
Of public fraud. In vain doth Valour bleed. 
While Avarice and Rapine share the land. 



544 SONNETS. 



TO THE LORD GENERAL CROMWELL, MAY 1 65 2, 

ON THE PROPOSALS OF CERTAIN MINISTERS AT THE COMMITTEE FOR PROP- 
AGATION OF THE GOSPEL. 

Cromwell, our chief of men, who through a cloud 
Not of war only, but detractions rude, 
Guided by faith and matchless fortitude. 
To peace and truth thy glorious way hast ploughed, 

And on the neck of crowned Fortune proud 

Hast reared God's trophies, and his work pursued, 
While Darwen stream, with blood of Scots imbrued, 
And Dunbar field, resounds thy praises loud, 

And Worcester's laureate wreath : yet much remains 
To conquer still ; Peace hath her victories 
No less renowned than War : new foes arise. 

Threatening to bind our souls with secular chains. 
Help us to save free conscience from the paw 
Of hireling wolves, whose Gospel is their maw. 



TO SIR HENRY VANE THE YOUNGER. 

Vane, young in years, but in sage counsel old. 

Than whom a better senator ne'er held 

The helm of Rome, when gowns, not arms, repelled 

The fierce Epirot and the African bold. 
Whether to settle peace, or to unfold 

The drift of hollow states hard to be spelled ; 

Then to advise how war may best, upheld, 

Move by her two main nerves, iron and gold. 
In all her equipage ; besides, to know 

Both spiritual power and civil, what each means. 

What severs each, thou hast learned, which few have done. 
The bounds of either sword to thee we owe : 

Therefore on thy firm hand Religion leans 

In peace, and reckons thee her eldest son. 



XVIII. 
ON THE LATE MASSACRE IN PIEDMONT. 

Avenge, O Lord, thy slaughtered saints, whose bones 
Lie scattered on the Alpine mountains cold ; 
Even them who kept .thy truth so pure of old, 



SONNETS. 545 



When all our fathers worshiped stocks and stones, 
Forget not : in thy book record their groans 

Who were thy sheep, and in their ancient fold 
Slain by the bloody Piemontese, that rolled 
Mother with infant down the rocks. Their moans 
The vales redoubled to the hills, and they 

To heaven. Their martyred blood and ashes sow 
O^er all the Italian fields, where still doth sway 
The triple Tyrant ; that from these may grow 
A hundredfold, who, having learnt thy way, 
Early may fly the Babylonian woe. 



XIX. 

[on his blindness.] 

When I consider how my light is spent 

Ere half my days in this dark world and wide, 
And that one talent which is death to hide 
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent 

To serve therewith my Maker, and present 
My true account, lest He returning chide, 
"Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?" 
I fondly ask. But Patience, to prevent 

That murmur, soon replies, " God doth not need 
Either man's work or his own gifts. Who best 
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best. His state 

Is kingly : thousands at his bidding speed. 

And post o'er land and ocean without rest ; 
They also serve who only stand and wait." 



XX. 

[to MR. LAWRENCE.] 

Lawrence, of virtuous father virtuous son, 

Now that the fields are dank, and ways are mire, 
Where shall we sometimes meet, and by the fire 
Help waste a sullen day, what may be won 

From the hard season gaining? Time will run 
On smoother, till Favonius reinspire 
The frozen earth, and clothe in fresh attire 
The Hly and rose, that neither sowed nor spun. 

What neat repast shall feast us, light and choice. 
Of Attic taste, with wine, whence we may rise 
To hear the lute well toughed, or artful voice 



546 



SONNETS. 



Warble immortal notes and Tuscan air? 

He who of those delights can judge, and spare 
To interpose them oft, is not unwise. 



XXI. 

[to cyriack skinner.] 

Cyriack, whose grandsire on the royal bench 
Of British Themis, with no mean applause. 
Pronounced, and in his volumes taught, our laws, 
Which others at their bar so often wrench. 

To-day deep thoughts resolve with me to drench 
In mirth that after no repenting draws ; 
Let Euclid rest, and Archimedes pause, 
And what the Swede intend, and what the French. 

To measure life learn thou betimes, and know 

Toward solid good what leads the nearest way ; 
For other things mild Heaven a time ordains, 

And disapproves that care, though wise in show, 
That with superfluous burden loads the day. 
And, when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains. 



XXII. 

[to the same.] 

Cyriack, this three years' day these eyes, though clear. 

To outward view, of blemish or of spot. 

Bereft of light, their seeing have forgot ; 

Nor to their idle orbs doth sight appear 
Of sun, or moon, or star, throughout the year, 

Or man, or woman. Yet I argue not 

Against Heaven's hand or will, nor bate a jot 

Of heart or hope, but still bear up and steer 
Right onward. What supports me, dost thou ask? 

The conscience, friend, to have lost them overplied 

In Liberty's defence, my noble task. 
Of which all Europe rings from side to side. 

This thought might lead me through the world's vain mask 

Content, though blind, had I no better guide. 



XXIII. 

[on HIS deceased wife.] 

Methought I saw my late espoused saint 

Brought to me like Alcestis from the grave, 



SONNETS. 547 



Whom Jove's great son to her glad husband gave, 
Rescued from Death by force, though pale and faint. 

Mine, as whom washed from spot of child-bed taint 
Purification in the Old Law did save, 
And such as yet once more I trust to have 
Full sight of her in Heaven without restraint, 

Came vested all in white, pure as her mind. 

Her face was veiled ; yet to my fancied sight 
Love, sweetness, goodness, in her person shined 

So clear as in no face with more delight. 
But, oh! as to embrace me she inclined, 
I waked, she fled, and day brought back my night. 



548 TRANSLATIONS. 



[TRANSLATIONS.] 
THE FIFTH ODE OF HORACE, LIB. I., 

Quis multd gracilis te Puer in rosd. 

Rendered almost word for word, without rhyme, according to the Latin 
measure, as near as the language will permit. 

What slender youth, bedewed with liquid odours, 
Courts thee on roses in some pleasant cave, 

Pyrrha? For whom bind'st thou 

In wreaths thy golden hair, 
Plain in thy neatness? Oh, how oft shall he 
On faith and changed gods complain, and seas 

Rough with black winds and storms 

Unwonted shall admire, 
Who now enjoys thee credulous, all gold ; 
Who always vacant, always amiable, 

Hopes thee, of flattering gales 

Unmindful! Hapless they 
To whom thou untried seem'st fair! Me, in my vowed 
Picture, the sacred wall declares to have hung 

My dank and dropping weeds 

To the stern God of Sea. 

[As Milton inserts the original with his translation, as if to challenge 
comparison, it is right that we should do so too.] 

AD PYRRHAM. ODE V. 

Horatius ex Pyrrhce illecebris tanquam e naufragio cnaiaverat, cujus antore 
irretitos affir7nat esse miseros. 

Quis multa gracilis te puer in rosa 
Perfusus liquidis urget odoribus 
Grato, Pyrrha, sub antro? 



TRANSLATIONS. 



549 



Ciii flavam religas comam 
Simplex munditie? Heu, quoties fidem 
Mutatosque Deos flebit, et aspera 
Nigris aequora ventis 
Emirabitur insolens, 
Qui nunc te fruitur credulus aurea ; 
Qui semper vacuam, semper amabilem, 
Sperat, nescius aurae 

Fallacis! Miseri quibus 
Intentata nites. Me tabula sacer 
Votiva paries indicat uvida 
Suspendisse potenti 

Vestimenta maris Deo. 



April, 1648. — J. M. 

Nine of the Psalms done into Metre; wherein all, but what is in a different 
character, are the very words of the Text, translated from the original. 



PSALM LXXX. 

Thou Shepherd that dost Israel keep. 

Give ear in time of need, 
Who leadest like a flock of sheep 

Thy loved Joseph's seed, 
That sitt'st between the Cherubs bright, 

Between their wings outspread ] 
Shine forth, and from thy cloud give light. 

And on our foes thy dread. 
In Ephraim's view and Benjamin's, 

And in Manasseh's sight, 10 

Awake ^ thy strength, come, and be seen 1 Gnorera. 

To save us by thy might. 
Turn us again ; thy grace divine 

To us, O God, vouchsafe ; 
Cause thou thy face on us to shine, 

And then we shall be safe. 
Lord God of Hosts, how long wilt thou, 

How long wilt thou declare 
Thy '^ smoking wrath, and angry brow, 2 Gnashanta. 

Against thy people's prayer? 20 

Thou feed'st them with the bread of tears ; 

Their bread with tears they eat ; 
And mak'st them largely ^ drink the tears ^ Skaiish. 



550 TRANSLATIONS. 



Wherewith their cheeks are wet. 

6 A strife thou mak'st us and a prey 

To every neighbour foe ; 
Among themselves they^ laugh, they^ play, 

And"* flouts at us they throw. ^Jilgnagu. 

7 Return us, and thy grace divine, 

O God of Hosts, vouchsafe ', 30 

Cause thou thy face on us to shine, 
And then we shall be safe. 

8 A Vine from Egypt thou hast brought. 

Thy free love made it thine, 
And drov^st out nations proud and hant. 
To plant this lovely Vine. 

9 Thou didst prepare for it a place. 

And root it deep and fast. 
That it began to groiv apace, 

And filled the land at last. 40 

10 With her green shade that covered all 

The hills were overspread ; 
Her boughs as high as cedars tall 
Advanced their lofty head. 

11 Her branches on the western side 

Down to the sea she sent, 

And upward to that river wide 

Her other branches went. 

12 Why hast thou laid her hedges low, 

And broken down her fence, $0 

That all may pluck her, as they go, 
With rudest violence? 

13 The tusked boar out of the wood 

Upturns it by the roots ; 
Wild beasts there browse, and make their food 
Her grapes and te?ider shoots. 

14 Return now, God of Hosts ; look down 

From Heaven, thy seat divine; 
Behold us, but tuithout a frown. 

And visit this thy Vine. 60 

15 Visit this Vine, which thy right hand 

Hath set, and planted long, 
And the young branch, that for thyself 
Thou hast made firm and strong. 

16 But now it is consumed with fire, 

And cut with axes down ; 
They perish at thy dreadful ire. 
At thy rebuke and frown. 

17 Upon the Man of thy right hand 

Let thy good hand be laid; - 7° 



TRANS LA TIONS. 



551 



Upon the Son of Man, whom Thou 
Strong for thyself hast made. 

18 So shall we not go back from thee 

To ways of sin and shaine : 
Quicken us thou ; then gladly we 
Shall call upon thy Name. 

19 Return us, and thy grace divine, 

Lord God of Hosts, vouchsafe: 
Cause thou thy face on us to shine, 

And then we shall be safe. 80 

PSALM LXXXL 

1 To God our strength sing loud and clears 

Sing loud to God our King; 
To Jacob's God, that all may hear, 
Loud acclamations ring. 

2 Prepare a hymn, prepare a song; 

The timbrel hither bring ; 
The checfful psaltery bring along, 
And harp with pleasant string. 

3 Blow, as is wont, in the new moon. 

With trumpets' lofty sound, 10 

The appointed time, the day whereon 
Our solemn feast comes ronnd. 

4 This was a statute given of old 

For Israel to observe, 
A law of Jacob's God to hold, 

Fro7n whence they ?night not swerve. 

5 This he a testimony ordained 

In Joseph, not to change, 
When as he passed through Egypt-land ; 

The tongue I heard was strange. 20 

6 From burden, and fro7n slavish toil, 

I set his shoulder free; 
His hands from pots, a7id miry soil. 
Delivered were by 7ne. 

7 When trouble did thee sore assail, 

O71 77ie then didst thou call. 
And I to free thee did 7tot fail, 

And led thee ant of thrall. 
I answered thee in ^ thunder deep, 1 Be Sether 

With clouds encompassed round : ragnam. 

I tried thee at the water steep 31 

Of Meriba re7iow7ied. 

8 Hear, O my people, hearke7i well: 

I testify to thee, 



552 



TRANSLATIONS. 



Thoii ancient stock of Israel, 

If thou wilt list to me : 
9 Throughout the land of thy abode 

No alien God shall be, 
Nor shalt thou to a foreign god 

In honour bend thy knee. 40 

10 I am the Lord thy God, which brought 

Thee out of Egypt-land; 
Ask large enough, and I, besought^ 
Will grant thy full demand. 

11 And yet my people would not hear,) 

Nor hearken to my voice ; 
And Israel, whom I loved so dear, 
Misliked me for his choice. 

12 Then did I leave them to their will, 

And to their wandering mind ; 50 

Their own conceits they followed still, 
Their own devices blind. 

13 Oh that my people would be wise, 

To serve me all their days I 

And oh that Israel would advise 

To walk my 7'ighteotis ways! 

14 Then would I soon bring down their foes, 

That now so proudly rise, 
And turn my hand against all those 

That are their enemies. 60 

15 Who hate the Lord should theji be fain 

To bow to him and bend ; 
But tliey, his people, shoidd remain ; 
Their time should have no end. 

16 And he would feed them from the shock 

With flour of finest wheat, 

And satisfy them from the rock 

With honey for their meat. 



PSALM LXXXII. 



1 Bagna- 
dath-el. 

2 B eke rev. 



3 Tiskphetu 
gnavel. 



1 God in the ^ great ^ assembly stands 

Of kings and lordly states ; 
2 Among the gods '-^ on both his hands 
He judges and debates. 

2 How long will ye ^ pervert the right 

With ^ judgment false and wrong, 
Favouring the wicked by yo?/r might, 
Who tJience grow bold ajid strotigf 



TRANSLATIONS. 



553 



3 4 Regard the ^ weak and fatherless; ^ Shiphtu- 

* Despatch the * poor man's cause ; ^'^^^ 

And ^ raise the man in deep distress i 

By^ just and equal laws. ^ Hatzdiku. 

4 Defend the poor and desolate, 

And rescue from the hands 

Of wicked men the low estate 

Of him that help deviands. 

5 They know not, nor will understand ; 

In darkness they walk on ; 
The earth's foundations all are ^ moved, ^ yimmotu. 

And^ out of order gone. 2 

6 I said that ye were gods, yea all 

The sons of God Most High ; 

7 But ye shall die like men, and fall 

As other princes die. 

8 Rise, God; 'judge thou the earth in might; 

This wicked earth "^ redress ; ^ Shiphta. 

For thou art he who shalt by right 
The nations all possess. 



PSALM LXXXIII. 



1 Be not thou silent now at length; 

O God, hold not thy peace : 
Sit thou not still, O God of strength ; 
We cry aiid do not cease. 

2 For lo ! thy furious foes now'^swtW, 

And ^ storm outrageously ; 
And they that hate thee, proud and fell, 
Exalt their heads full high. 

3 Against thy people they - contrive 

^ Their plots and counsels deep ; 
*Them to ensnare they chiefly strive 
^Whom thou dost hide and keep. 

4 " Come, let us cut them off," say they, 

"Till they no nation be; 
That Israel's name for ever may 
Be lost in memory." 

5 For they consult ^ with all their might, 

And all as one in mind 
Themselves against thee they unite. 
And in firm union bind. 

6 The tents of Edom, and the brood 

Of scornful Ishmael, 



^ Jehemajun, 

7 

2 jfagtiari- 
mu. 

3 Sod. 

4 Jithjag- 
natsu gnal. 

° TsepJiu- 
neca. 



" Levjach- 
daj*. 



20 



554 TRANSLATIONS. 



Moab, with them of Hagar's blood, 
That in the desert dwell, 

7 Gebal and Ammon there conspire^ 

And hateful Amalec, 
The Philistines, and they of Tyre, 
Whose bounds the sea doth check. 

8 With them great Ashur also bands, 

And doth confirm the knot; 30 

All these have lent their ar?ned hands 
To aid the sons of Lot. 

9 Do to them as to Midian bold. 

That wasted all the coast ; 
To Sisera, and as is told 

Thou didst to Jabin's host, 
When at the brook of Kishon old 

They were repulsed and slain, 

10 At Endor quite cut off, and rolled 

As dung upon the plain. 40 

11 As Zeb and Oreb evil sped. 

So let their princes speed ; 
As Zeba and Zalmunna bled, 
So let their princes bleed. 

12 For they afnidst their pride have said, 

''By right now shall we seize 
God's houses, and will now invade 
■^ NeothElo- 7 Their stately palaces." 

A^j« bears j^ j^y q^^^ ^I^ j^^^j^^ ^j^^^^^ ^^ ^ wheel; 

No quiet let them find; 50 

Giddy and restless let the7n reel, 
Like stubble from the wind. 

14 As, when an aged wood takes fire 

Which on a sndden strays. 
The greedy flame runs higher and higher, 
Till all the mountains blaze ; 

15 So with thy whirlwind them pursue. 

And with thy tempest chase ; 
8 They seek 16 8 And till they ^ yield thee honour due, 
thy^name: Lord, fill with shame their face. 60 

17 Ashamed and troubled let them be. 

Troubled and shamed for ever. 
Ever confounded, and so die 

With shame, a7id scape it never. 

18 Then shall they know that thou, whose name 

Jehovah is, alone 
Art the Most High, and thon the sa?ne 



O'er all the earth art One. 



TRANSLATIONS. 555 



PSALM LXXXIV. 

1 How lovely are thy dwellings fair ! 

O Lord of Hosts, how dear 
The pleasaiit tabernacles are 
Where thou dost dwell so near! 

2 My soul doth long and almost die 

Thy courts, O Lord, to see; 
My heart and flesh aloud do cry, 
O living God, for thee. 

3 There even the sparrow, freed from wrongs 

Hath found a house of rest-, 10 

The swallow there, to lay her young. 

Hath built her brooding nest; 
Even by thy altars, Lord of Hosts, 

They fnd their safe abode ; 
And home they fly frotn round the coasts 

Toward thee, my King, my God. 

4 Happy who in thy house reside. 

Where thee they ever praise ! 

5 Happy whose strength in thee doth bide, 

And in their hearts thy ways ! 20 

6 They pass through Baca's thirsty vale, 

That dry and barreji ground, 
As through a fruitful watery dale 
Where springs and showers abound. 

7 They journey on from strength to strength 

With joy and gladsome cheer. 
Till all before oicr God at length 
In Sion do appear. 

8 Lord God of Hosts, hear 7iow my prayer, 

O Jacob's God, give ear : 30 

9 Thou, God, our shield, look on the face 

Of thy anointed dear. 
10 For one day in thy courts to be 

Is better and 7nore blest 
Than in the joys of vanity 

A thousand days at best. 
I in the temple of my God 

Had rather keep a door 
Than dwell in tents and rich abode 

With sin for evermore. 40 

1 1 For God, the Lord, both sun and shield, 

Gives grace and glory bright ; 
No good from them shall be withheld 

Whose ways are just and right. 



556 



TRANSLATIONS. 



12 Lord God of Hosts that reigiCst on high, 
That man is tndy blest 
Who only on thee doth rely, 
And in thee only rest. 



PSALM LXXXV. 



1 Heb. : The 
burning heat of 
thy wrath. 



Thy land to favour graciously 

Thou hast not, Lord, been slack ; 
Thou hast from hard captivity 

Returned Jacob back. 
The iniquity thou didst forgive 

That wrought thy people woe, 
And all their sin that did thee gj'ieve 

Hast hid where none shall know. 
Thine anger all thou hadst removed. 

And cabnly didst return 
From thyi fierce wrath, which we had proved 

Far worse than fire to burn. 
God of our saving health and peace, 

Turn us, and us restore ; 
Thine indio-nation cause to cease 



2 Heb. : Turn 
to quicken us. 



5 Wilt thou be angry without end. 

For ever angry thus? 
Wilt thou thy frowning ire extend 
From age to age on us? 

6 Wilt thou not ^. turn and hear onr voice^ 

And thus again ^ revive, 
That so thy people may rejoice, 
By thee preserved alive? 

7 Cause us to see thy goodness. Lord ; 

To us thy mercy shew ; 
Thy saving health to us afford. 
And life i7i ns renew. 

8 And now what God the Lord will speak 

I will go straight and hear, 
For to his people he speaks peace, 

And to his saints fiill dear ; 
To his dear saints he will speak peace ; 

But let them never more 
Return to folly, d?/t surcease 

To trespass as before. 

9 Surely to such as do him fear 

Salvation is at hand, 
And glory shall ere long appear 



20 



30 



TRANSLATIONS. 557 



To dwell within our land. 40 

10 Mercy and Truth, that long were missed. 

Now joyfjtlly are met ; 
Sweet Peace and Righteousness have kissed, 
And hand in hatid are set. 

1 1 Truth from the earth like to a flower 

Shall bud and blossom the)i ; 
And Justice from her heavenly bower 
Look down on mortal men. 

12 The Lord will also then bestow 

Whatever thing is good ; 50 

Our land shall forth in plenty throw 
Her fruits to be our food. 

13 Before him Righteousness shall go, 

His royal harbinger: 
Then ^ will he come, and not be slow ; 



3 Heb. : He 
will set his 
teps to the 



His footsteps cannot err. way 



PSALM LXXXVL 

1 Thy gracious ear, O Lord, incline ; 

hear me, / thee pray ; 

For I am poor, and almost pine 
With need and sad decay. 

2 Preserve my soul; for M have trod '^Heb.\\^m 

Thy ways, and love the just; roe?ofTod& 

Save thou thy servant, O my God, holy things. 

Who still in thee doth trust. 

3 Pity me. Lord, for daily thee 

1 call; 4 Oh make rejoice 10 
Thy servant's soul! for. Lord, to thee 

I lift my soul and voice. 

5 For thou art good ; thou, Lord, art prone 

To pardon ; thou to all 
Art full of mercy, thou alone^ 
To them that on thee call. 

6 Unto my supplication. Lord, . 

Give ear, and to the cry 
Of my incessajit prayers afford 

Thy hearing graciously. 20 

7 I in the day of my distress 

Will call on Xhte for aid ; 
For thou wilt graid me free access, 
And answer what I prayed. 

8 Like thee among the gods is none, 

O Lord ; nor any works 



558 TRANSLATIONS. 



Of all that other gods have done 

Like to thy glorious works. 
9 The nations all whom thou hast made 

Shall come, and all shall frame 30 

To bow them low before thee, Lord, 

And glorify thy name. 

10 For great thou art, and wonders great 

By thy strong hand are done ; 
Thou /;/ thy everlasting seat 
Remainest God alone. 

11 Teach me, O Lord, thy way jnost right; 

I in thy truth will bide ; 
To fear thy name my heart unite; 

So shall it 7iever slide. 40 

12 Thee will I praise, O Lord my God, 

Thee honour and adore 
With my whole heart, and blaze abroad 
Thy name for evermore. 

13 For great thy mercy is toward me, 

And thou hast freed my soul, 
Ev'n from the lowest hell set free, 
From deepest dark?iess font. 

14 O God, the proud against me rise, 

And violent men are met 50 

To seek my life, and in their eyes 
No fear of thee have set. 

15 But thou, Lord, art the God most mild, 

Readiest thy grace to shew. 
Slow to be angry, and art styled 
Most merciful, most true. 

1 6 Oh turn to me thy face at leftgth. 

And me have mercy on ; 
Unto thy servant give thy strength, 

And save thy handmaid's son. 60 

17 Some sign of good to me afford, 

And let my foes then see, 
And be ashamed, because thou, Lord, 
Dost help and cp.nafQrt me. 



PSALM LXXXVIL 

Among the holy mountains high 

Is his foundation fast ; 
There seated in his sanctuary. 

His temple there is placed. 
Sion's fair gates the Lord loves more 



TRANSLATIONS. 559 



Than all the dwellings fair 
Of Jacob's land, though there be store. 

And all within his care. 
City of God, most glorious things 

Of thee abroad are spoke. 10 

I mention Egypt, where proud kings 

Did our forefathers yoke ; 
I mention Babel to my friends, 

Philistia full of scorn, 
And Tyre, with Ethiop's utmost ends: 

Lo! this man there was born. 
But twice that praise shall in our ear 

Be said of Sion last: 
This and this man was born in her; 

High God shall fix her fast. 20 

The Lord shall write it in a scroll, 

That ne'er shall be out-worn, 
When he the nations doth enroll. 

That this man there was born. 
Both they who sing and they who dance 

With sacred songs are there ; 
In thee fresh brooks a fid soft streams glance^ 

And all my fountains clear. 



PSALM LXXXVIIL 

1 Lord God, that dost me save and keep, 

All day to thee I cry, 
And all night long before thee weep, 
Before thee prostrate lie. 

2 Into thy presence let my prayer, 

With sighs devout, ascend; 
And to my cries, that ceaseless are. 
Thine ear with favour bend. 

3 For, cloyed with woes and trouble store, 

Surcharged my soul doth lie ; 10 

My life, at dcatJCs uncheerful door. 
Unto the grave draws nigh. 

4 Reckoned I am with them that pass 

Down to the dismal pit ; 
I am a hnan but weak, alas ! ^ Heb.: A 

And for that name unfit, man without 

T- IT T 1 1 1 1 • manly 

5 rrom life discharged and parted quite strength. 

Among the dead to sleep. 
And like the slain /;/ bloody fight 

That in the grave lie deep; 20 



56o TRANSLATIONS. 



Whom thou rememberest no more, 

Dost never more regard : 
Them, from thy hand delivered o'er, 

DeatJCs hideous house hath barred. 

6 Thou, in the lowest pit profound. 

Hast set me all forlor7i. 
Where thickest darkness hovers rotmd. 
In horrid deeps to mourn. 

7 Thy wrath, from which no shelter saves. 

Full sore doth press on me; 30 

2 The He- ^ f^Qu break'st upon me all thy waves, 
brew bears 2 And all thy waves break me. 

8 Thou dost my friends from me estrange, 

And mak'st me odious, 
Me to them odious, for they change. 
And I here pent up thus. 

9 Through sorrow and affliction great 

Mine eye grows dim and dead ; 
Lord, all the day I thee entreat, 

My hands to thee I spread. 40 

10 Wilt thou do wonders on the dead? 

Shall the deceased arise . 
And praise thee frojn their loathsome bed 
With pale and hollow eyes? 

11 Shall they thy loving-kindness tell 

On whom the grave hath hold? 
Or they who in perdition dwell 
Thy faithfulness unfold? 

12 In darkness can thy mighty hand 

Or wondrous acts be known? 50 

Thy justice in the gloomy land 
Of dork oblivion? 

13 But I to thee, O Lord, do cry 

Ere yet my life be spent ; 
And up to thee my prayer doth hie 
Each morn, and thee prevent. 

14 Why wilt thou. Lord, my soul forsake 

And hide thy face from me, 

3 Heb. : PrcB \ ^ That am already bruised, and ^ shake 

concussione. ;^-^j^ ^^^^^^ ^^^^ ^^^^ ^|^gg . 5o 

Bruised and afflicted, and so low 

As ready to expire. 
While I thy terrors undergo, 

Astonished with thine ire? 

16 Thy fierce wrath over me doth flow; 

Thy threatenings cut me through: 

17 All day they round about me go; 



TRANSLATIONS. 561 



Like waves they me pursue. 
18 Lover and friend thou hast removed, 

And severed from me far: 70 

They fly me now whom I have loved, 
And as in darkness are. 



PSALM L 

Done into verse 1653. 

Blest is the man who hath not walked astray 

In counsel of the wicked, and i' the way 

Of sinners hath not stood, and in the seat 

Of scorners hath not sat ; but in the great 

Jehovah's Law is ever his delight, 

And in his law he studies day and night. 

He shall be as a tree which planted grows 

By watery streams, and in his season knows 

To yield his fruit ; and his leaf shall not fall ; 

And what he takes in hand shall prosper all. 10 

Not so the wicked ; but, as chaff which fanned 

The wind drives, so the wicked shall not stand 

In judgment, or abide their trial then, 

Nor sinners in the assembly of just men. 

For the Lord knows the upright way of the just, 

And the way of bad men to ruin must. 



PSALM II. 

Done August 8, 1653. — Tej'zetti. 

Why do the Gentiles tumult, and the nations 

Muse a vain thing, the kings of the earth upstand 
With power, and princes in their congregations 

Lay deep their plots together through each land 
Against the Lord and his Messiah dear? 
" Let us break off," say they, " by strength of hand, 

Their bonds, and cast from us, no more to wear. 

Their twisted cords." He who in Heaven doth dwell 
Shall laugh ; the Lord shall scoff them, then severe 

Speak to them in his wrath, and in his fell 10 

And ftferce ire trouble them. " But I," saith he, 
" Anointed have my King (though ye rebel) 

On Sion my holy hill.'" A firm decree 



562 TRANSLATIONS. 



I will declare: the Lord to me hath said, 

" Thou art my Son ; I have begotten thee 
This day ; ask of me, and the grant is made : 

As thy possession I on thee bestow 

The Heathen, and, as thy conquest to be swayed, 
Earth's utmost bounds : them shalt thou bring full low 

With iron sceptre bruised, and them disperse 20 

Like to a potter's vessel shivered so." 
And now be wise at length, ye kings averse ; 

Be taught, ye judges of the earth ; with fear 

Jehovah serve, and let your joy converse 
With trembling ; kiss the Son, lest he appear 

In anger, and ye perish in the way. 

If once his wrath take fire, like fuel sere. 
Happy all those who have in him their stay. 



PSALM III. 

August (), 1653. 

When he Jled from Absalom. 

Lord, how many are my foes ! 
How many those 
That in arms against me rise ! 

Many are they 
That of my life distrustfully thus say, 
"No help for him in God there lies." 
But thou, Lord, art my shield, my glory; 
Thee, through my story, 
The exalter of my head I count : 

Aloud I cried 10 

Unto Jehovah ; he full soon replied, 
And heard me from his holy mount. 
I lay and slept ; I waked again : 
For my sustain 
Was the Lord. Of many millions 

The populous rout 
I fear not, though, encamping round about, 
They pitch against me their pavilions. 
Rise, Lord ; save me, my God ! for thou 

Hast smote ere now 20 

On the cheek-bone all my foes, 

Of men abhorred * 

Hast broke the teeth. This help was from the Lord; 
Thy blessing on thy people flows. 



TRANSLATIONS, 563 



PSALM IV. 

August 10, 1653. 

Answer me when I call, 

God of my righteousness ; 

In straits and in distress 

Thou didst me disenthrall 

And set at large : now spare, 
Now pity me, and hear my earnest prayer. 

Great ones, how long will ye 

My glory have in scorn? 

How long be thus forborne 

Still to love vanity? 10 

To love, to seek, to prize 
Things false and vain, and nothing else but Hes? 

Yet know the Lord hath chose, 

Chose to himself apart. 

The good and meek of heart 

(For whom to choose he knows) ; 

Jehovah from on high 
Will hear my voice what time to him I cry. 

Be awed, and do not sin; 

Speak to your hearts alone 20 

Upon your beds, each one, 

And be at peace within. 

Offer the offerings just 
Of righteousness, and in Jehovah trust. 

Many there be that say 

"Who yet will show us good?" 

Talking like this w^orld's brood; 

But, Lord, thus let me pray : 

On us lift up the light, 
Lift up the favour, of thy count'nance bright. 30 

Into my heart more joy 

And gladness thou hast put 

Than when a year of glut 

Their stores doth over-cloy. 

And from their plenteous grounds 
With vast increase their corn and wine abounds. 

In peace at once will I 

Both lay me down and sleep; 

For thou alone dost keep 

Me safe where'er I lie : 4^ 

As in a rocky cell 
Thou, Lord, alone in safety mak'st me dweU. 



PSALM V. 

August 12, 1653. 

Jehovah, to my words give ear, 

My meditation weigh ; 
The voice of my complaining hear, 
My King and God, for unto thee I pray. 
Jehovah, thou my early voice 

Shalt in the morning hear; 
V the morning I to thee with choice 
Will rank my prayers, and watch till thou appear. 
For thou art not a God that takes 

In wickedness delight ; 10 

Evil with thee no biding makes ; 
Fools or mad men stand not within thy sight. 
All workers of iniquity 

Thou hat'st; and them unblest 
Thou wilt destroy that speak a lie ; 
The bloody and guileful man God doth detest. 
But I will in thy mercies dear, 
Thy numerous mercies, go 
Into thy house; I, in thy fear, 
Will towards thy holy temple worship low. 20 

Lord, lead me in thy righteousness, 

Lead me, because of those 
That do observe if I transgress ; 
Set thy ways right before where my step goes. 
For in his faltering mouth unstable 

No word is firm or sooth ; 
Their inside, troubles miserable ; 
An open grave their throat, their tongue they smooth. 
God, find them guilty ; let them fall 

By their own counsels quelled ; 30 

Push them in their rebellions all 
Still on ; for against thee they have rebelled. 
Then all who trust in thee shall bring 
Their joy, while thou from blame 
Defend'st them: they shall ever sing. 
And shall triumph in thee, who love thy name. 
For thou, Jehovah, wilt be found 

To bless the just man still : 
As with a shield thou wilt surround 
Him with thy lasting favour and good will. 40 




PSALM VI. 
August 13, 1653. 

Lord, in thy anger do not reprehend me, 

Nor in thy hot displeasure me correct ; 

Pity me, Lord, for I am much deject. 
And very weak and faint; heal and amend me: 
For all my bones, that even with anguish ache. 

Are troubled ; yea, my soul is troubled sore ; 

And thou, O Lord, how long? Turn, Lord; restore 
My soul ; oh, save me, for thy goodness' sake ! 
For in death no remembrance is of thee ; 

Who in the grave can celebrate thy praise? 10 

Wearied I am with sighing out my days ; 
Nightly my couch I make a kind of sea ; 
My bed I water with my tears ; mine eye 

Through grief consumes, is waxen old and dark 

V the midst of all mine enemies that mark. 
Depart, all ye that work iniquity. 
Depart from me ; for the voice of my weeping 

The Lord hath heard; the Lord hath heard my prayer; 

My supplication with acceptance fair 
The Lord will own, and have me in his keeping. 20 

Mine enemies shall all be blank, and dashed 

With much confusion ; then, grown red with shame, 

They shall return in haste the way they came. 
And in a moment shall be quite abashed. 



PSALM VIL 

Attgusi 14, 1653. 

Upon the words of Chush the Benjatnite against him. 

Lord, my God, to thee I fly; 
Save me, and secure me under 
Thy protection while I cry ; 
Lest, as a lion (and no wonder), 
He haste to tear my soul asunder, 
Tearing and no rescue nigh. 



566 TRANSLATIONS. 



Lord, my God, if I have thought 
Or done this ; if wickedness 
Be in my hands ; if I have wrought 
111 to him that meant me peace ; 
Or to him have rendered less, 
And not freed my foe for naught: 


10 


Let the enemy pursue my soul, 
And overtake it ; let him tread 
My life down to the earth, and roll 
In the dust my glory dead. 
In the dust, and there outspread 
Lodge it with dishonour foul. 




Rise, Jehovah, in thine ire; 
Rouse thyself amidst the rage 
Of my foes that urge like fire ; 
And wake for me, their fury assuage ; 
Judgment here thou didst engage 
And command, which I desire. 


20 


So the assemblies of each nation 
Will surround thee, seeking right : 
Thence to thy glorious habitation 
Return on high, and in their sight. 
Jehovah judgeth most upright 
All people from the world's foundation. 


30 


Judge me. Lord; be judge in this 
According to my righteousness. 
And the innocence which is 
Upon me : cause at length to cease 
Of evil men the wickedness. 
And their power that do amiss. 




But the just establish fast. 

Since thou art the just God that tries 

Hearts and reins. On God is cast 

My defence, and in him lies ; 

In him who, both just and wise. 

Saves the upright of heart at last. 


40 


God is a just judge and severe, 
And God is every day offended; 






\ 



TRANSLATIONS. 567 



If the unjust will not forbear, 

His sword he whets ; his bow hath bended 

Already, and for him intended 

The tools of death that waits him near. 

(His arrows purposely made he 

For them that persecute.) Behold 50 

He travails big with vanity ; 

Trouble he hath conceived of old 

As in a womb, and from that mould 

Hath at length brought forth a lie. 

He digg'd a pit, and delved it deep. 

And fell into the pit he made : 

His mischief, that due course doth keep, 

Turns on his head : and his ill trade 

Of violence will undelayed 

Fall on his crown with ruin steep. 60 

I 
Then will I Jehovah's praise E 

According to his justice raise, I 

And sing the Name and Deity \ 

Of Jehovah the Most High. ^ 



PSALM vni. 

August 14, 1653. 

O Jehovah our Lord, how wondrous great 

And glorious is thy name through all the earth, 
So as above the heavens thy praise to set ! 

Out of the tender mouths of latest bearth. 
Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings thou 

Hast founded strength, because of all thy foes. 
To stint the enemy, and slack the avenger"'s brow, 

That bends his rage thy providence to oppose. 

When I behold thy heavens, thy fingers' art. 

The moon and stars, which thou so bright hast set 10 

In the pure firmament, then saith my heart. 

Oh, what is man that thou rememberest yet 
And think'st upon him, or of man begot 

That him thou visit'st, and of him art found? 
Scarce to be less than gods thou jnad'st his lot ; 

With honour and with state thou hast him crowned. 



568 TRANSLATIONS. 



O'er the works of thy hand thou mad'st him lord ; 

Thou hast put all under his lordly feet, 
All flocks and herds, by thy commanding word. 

All beasts that in the field or forest meet. 
Fowl of the heavens, and fish that through the wet 

Sea-paths in shoals do slide, and know no dearth. 
O Jehovah our Lord, how wondrous great 

And glorious is thy name through all the earth ! 



SCRAPS FROM THE PROSE WRITINGS. 

FROM "OF REFORMATION TOUCHING CHURCH DISCIPLINE 
IN ENGLAND," 1641. 

[Dante, Inferno, xix. 115.] 

Ah, Constantine, of how much ill was cause, 
Not thy conversion, but those rich domains 
That the first wealthy Pope received of thee ! 

[Petrarch, Sonnet 107.] 

Founded in chaste and humble poverty, 

'Gainst them that raised thee dost thou lift thy horn, 

Impudent whore? Where hast thou placed thy hope? 

In thy adulterers, or thy ill-got wealth? 

Another Constantine comes not in haste. 



[Ariosto, Orl. Fur. xxxiv. Stanz. 80.] 

Then passed he to a flowery mountain green. 
Which once smelt sweet, now stinks as odiously : 
This was that gift (if you the truth will have) 
That Constantine to good Sylvestro gave. 



FROM THE APOLOGY FOR SMECTYMNUUS, 1642. 
[Horace, Sat. i. i, 24.] 

Laughing to teach the truth 
What hinders? as some teachers give to boys 
Junkets and knacks, that they may learn apace. 

[Horace, Sat. i. 10, 14.] 

Joking decides great things 
Stronglier and better oft than earnest can. 

[Sophocles, Electra, 624.] 

'Tis you that say it, not L You do the deeds, 
And your ungodly deeds find me the words. 

FROM AREOPAGITICA, 1644. 

[Euripides, Supplices, 438.] 

This is true Liberty, when freeborn men. 
Having to advise the public, may speak free : 
Which he who can and will deserves high praise : 
Who neither can nor will may hold his peace. 
What can be juster in a state than this? 

FROM TETRACHORDON, 1645. 

[Horace, Epist. \. 16, 40.] 

Whom do we count a good man? Whom but he 
Who keeps the laws and statutes of the senate. 
Who judges in great suits and controversies. 
Whose witness and opinion wins the cause? 
But his own house, and the whole neighbourhood, 
Sees his foul inside through his whited skin. 

FROM " THE TENURE OF KINGS AND MAGISTRATES," 1649. 
[Seneca, Her. Fur. 922.] 

There can be slain 
No sacrifice to God more acceptable 
Than an unjust and wicked king. 



570 TRANSLATIONS. 



FROM THE HISTORY OF BRITAIN, 1670. 

[In Geoffrey of Monmouth the story is that Brutus the Trojan, wandering through the 
Mediterranean, and uncertain whither to go, arrived at a dispeopled island called Leo- 
gecia, where he found, in a ruined city, a temple and oracle of Diana. He consulted 
the oracle in certain Greek verses, of which Geoffrey gives a version in Latin elegiacs; ? 
and Milton translates these.] \ 

Goddess of Shades, and Huntress, who at will | 

Walk'st on the rolling sphere, and through the deep, | 

On thy third reign, the Earth, look now, and tell \ 

What land, what seat of rest thou bidd'st me seek, ^ 

What certain seat, where I may worship thee \ 

For aye, with temples vowed, and virgin quires. \ 

[Sleeping before the altar of the Goddess, Brutus received from her, in vision, an answer I 
to the above in Greek. Geoffrey quotes the traditional version of the same in Latin \ 
elegiacs, which Milton thus translates.] f 

Brutus, far to the west, in the ocean wide, ^ 

Beyond the realm of Gaul, a land there lies. 

Sea-girt it lies, where giants dwelt of old ; 

Now void, it fits thy people. Thither bend 

Thy course ; there shalt thou find a lasting seat ; 

There to thy sons another Troy shall rise. 

And kings be born of thee, whose dreaded might 

Shall awe the world, and conquer nations bold. 



LATIN POEMS. 

Separate Title-page in Editio7i 0/164^ : — " Joannis Miltoni Londinensis Poe- 
niata. Quorum pleraque intra annum getatis vigesimum conscripsit. Nunc 
primum edita. Londini, Typis R. R. Prostant ad Insignia Principis, in 
Ccemeterio D. Pauli, apud Humphredum Moseley. 1645." 

Separate Title-page in Edition of i6']T,: — Same as above, word for word, 
as far as to "Londini," inclusively; after which the rest runs thus: 
"Excudebat W. R. anno 1673." 



[DE AUCTORE TESTIMONIA.] 

Hac qu(B sequuntur de Authore testimonial tametsi ipse intelligebat non tain 
de se quam supra se esse dicta, eo qiiod prcBclaro ingenio viri, nee non amici, 
itafere solentlaudare td omnia suis potius virtutibus quam veritati congruentia 
nimis cnpide affiitgant, noliiit tavieii horiim egregiam in se voluntate?n non 
esse notam, ctim alii prasertim ut id faceret magnopere suaderent. Dum enini 
nimice laudis invidiam totis ah se viribus amolitur, sibique quod plus aquo est 
non attributum esse mavidt, judicium interim hominum cordatorum atque 
illustriutn quin summo sibi honori ducat negare non potest. 



JOANNES BAPTISTA MANSUS, MARCHIO VILLENSIS NEAPOLITANUS, AD 
JOANNEM MILTONIUM ANGLUM. 

Ut mens, forma, decor, fades, mos, si pietas sic, 
Non Anglus, verum hercle Angelus ipse, fores. 



AD JOANNEM MILTONEM ANGLUM, TRIPLICI POESEOS LAUREA 
CORONANDUM, GR^CA NIMIRUM, LATINA, ATQUE HETRUSCA, 
EPIGRAMMA JOANNIS SALSILLI ROMANI. 

Cede, Meles ; cedat depressa Mincius urna ; 

Sebetus Tassum desinat usque loqui ; 
At Thamesis victor cunctis ferat altior undas ; 

Nam per te, Milto, par tribus unus erit. 

571 



572 LATIN POEMS. 



AD JOANNEM MILTONUM. 

Graecia Maeonidem, jactet sibi Roma Maronem ; 
Anglia Miltonum jactat iitrique parem. 

Selvaggi. 

AL SIGNOR GIO. MILTONI, NOBILE INGLESE. 
ODE. 

Ergimi all' Etra o Clio, 

Perche di stelle intrecciero corona ! 

Non pill del biondo Dio 

La fronde eterna in Pindo, e in Elicona : 

Diensi a merto maggior maggiori i fregi, 

A celeste virtu celesti pregi. 

Non puo del Tempo edace 

Rimaner preda eterno alto valore ; 

Non puo r obblio rapace 

Furar dalle memorie eccelso onore. lo 

Suir arco di mia cetra un dardo forte 

Virtu m' adatti, e feriro la Morte. 

Deir Ocean profondo 

Cinta dagli ampi gorghi Anglia risiede 

Separata dal mondo, 

Per5 che il suo valor V umano eccede : 

Questa feconda sa produrre Eroi, 

Ch' hanno a ragion del sovruman tra noi. 

Alia virtu sbandita 

Danno nei petti lor fido ricetto, 20 

Quella gli h sol gradita, 

Perche in lei san trovar gioia e diletto ; 

Ridillo tu, Giovanni, e mostra in tanto, 

Con tua vera virtii, vero il mio Canto. 

Lungi dal patrio lido 

Spinse Zeusi V industre ardente brama; 

Ch' udio d' Elena il grido 

Con aurea tromba rimbombar la fama, 

E per poterla effigiare al paro 

Dalle pill belle Idee trasse il piu raro. 30 

Cosi r ape ingegnosa 

Trae con industria il suo liquor pregiato 



DE AUCTORE TESTIMONIA, 573 



Dal giglio e dalla rosa, 
E quanti vaghi fiori ornano il prato ; 
Formano un dolce suon diverse corde, 
Fan varie voci melodia Concorde. 

Di bella gloria amante 

Milton, dal Ciel natio, per varie parti 

Le peregrine piante 

Volgesti a ricercar scienze ed arti ; 40 

Dell Gallo regnator vedesti i Regni, 

E deir Italia ancor gP Eroi piu degni. 

Fabro quasi divino, 

Sol virtii rintracciando, il tuo pensiero 

Vide in ogni confino 

Chi di nobil valor calca il sentiero; 

L' ottimo dal miglior dopo scegliea 

Per fabbricar d^ ogni virtu 1' Idea. 

Quanti nacquero in Flora, 

in lei del parlar Tosco appreser 1' arte, 50 
La cui memoria onora 

II mondo fatta eterna in dotte carte, 
Volesti ricercar per tuo tesoro, 
E parlasti con lor nelP opre loro. 

Neir altera Babelle 

Per te il parlar confuse Giove in vano, 

Che per varie favelle 

Di se stessa trofeo cadde sul piano : 

Ch' ode, oltr' all' Anglia, il suo piu degno idioma 

Spagna, Francia, Toscana, e Grecia, e Roma. 60 

1 piu profondi arcani 

Ch' occulta la Natura, e in cielo e in terr? 
Ch' a Ingegni sovrumani 
Troppo avara talor gli chiude, e serra, 
Chiaramente conosci, e giungi al fine 
Delia moral virtude al gran confine. 

Non batta il Tempo 1' ale, 

Fermisi immoto, e in un ferminsi gli anni, 

Che di virtu immortale 

Scorron di troppo ingiuriosi ai danni ; 70 

Che s' opre degne di poema e storia 

Furon gia, 1' hai presenti alia memoria. 



574 



LATIN POEMS. 



Dammi tua dolce Cetra, 

Se vuoi ch' io dica del tiio dolce canto, 

Ch'' inalzandoti alP Etra 

Di farti uomo celeste ottiene il vanto ; 

II Tamigi il dira, che gli e concesso 

Per te, suo cigno, pareggiar Permesso. 



Tento spiegar tuo merto alto e preclaro, 80 

So che fatico indarno, 

E ad ammirar, non a lodarlo imparo , 

Freno dunque la lingua, e ascolto il core, 

Che ti prende a lodar con lo stupore. 

Del Sig. Antonio Francini, 
Gentiluomo Fiorentino. 



joanni miltoni, londinensi, 

Juveni patria, virtutibus. eximio : 

Viro qui multa peregrinatione, studio cuncta, orbis terrarum loca 
perspexit, ut, novus Ulysses, omnia ubique ab omnibus apprehenderet : 

Polyglotto, in cujus ore linguae jam deperditae sic reviviscunt ut 
idiomata omnia sint in ejus laudibus infacunda ; et jure ea percallet 
ut admirationes et plausus populorum ab propria sapientia excitatos 
intelligat : 

Illi,* cujus animi dotes corporisque sensus ad admirationem com- 
movent, et per ipsam motum cuique auferunt ; cujus opera ad plausus 
hortantur, sed venustate vocem laudatoribus adimunt : 

Cui in Memoria totus orbis; in Intellectu sapientia; in Voluntate 
ardor gloriae ; in Ore eloquentia ; harmonicos caelestium sphaerarum 
sonitus Astronomia duce audienti ; characteres mirabilium Naturas 
per quos Dei magnitudo describitur magistra Philosophia legenti ; 
antiquitatum latebras, vetustatis excidia, eruditionis ambages, comite 
assidua Autorum lectione, '■ exquirenti, restauranti, percurrenti ' 

(At cur nitor in arduum ?) : 
Illi in cujus virtutibus evulgandis ora Famas non sufficiant, nee homi- 
num stupor in laudandis satis est, Reverenti^ et Amoris ergo hoc ejus 
mentis debitum admirationis tributum offert 

Carolus Datus, Patricius Florentinus, 
Tanto homini servus, tanta; virtutis amator. 



ELEGIA PRIMA. 57S 



ELEGIARUM LIBER. 



ELEGIA PRIMA. 
Ad Carolum Diodatum. 



Tandem, chare, tuae mihi pervenere tabellae, 

Pertulit et voces nuncia charta tuas;^ 
Pertulit occidua Devae Cestrensis ab ora 

Vergivium prono qua petit amne salum. 
Multum, crede, juvat terras aluisse remotas 
Pectus amans nostri, tamque fidele caput, 
Quodque mihi lepidum teUus longinqua sodalem 

Debet, at unde brevi reddere ju3sa velit. 
Me tenet urbs reflua quam Thamesis alluit unda, 

Meque nee invitum patria dulcis habet. lo 

Jam nee arundiferum mihi cura revisere Camum, 

Nee dudum vetiti me laris angit amor. 
Nuda nee arva placent, umbrasque negantia molles; 

Quam male Phcebicolis convenit ille locus ! 
Nee duri libet usque minas perferre Magistri, 

Caeteraque ingenio non subeunda meo. 
Si sit hoc exilium, patrios adiisse penates, 

Et vacuum curis otia grata sequi, 
Non ego vel profugi nomen sortemve recuso, 

Laetus et exilii conditione fmor. 20 

O utinam vates nunquam graviora tulisset 

Ille Tomitano flebihs exul agro ; 
Non tunc lonio quicquam cessisset Homero, 

Neve foret victo laus tibi prima, Maro. 
Tempora nam licet hie placidis dare libera Musis, 

Et totum rapiunt me, mea vita, libri. 
Excipit hinc fessum sinuosi pompa theatri, 

Et vocat ad plausus garrula scena suos. 
Sen catus auditur senior, seu prodigus haeres, 

Seu procus, aut posita casside miles adest, 30 

Sive decennali foecundus lite patronus 

Detonat inculto barbara verba foro ; 
Ssepe vafer gnato succurrit servus amanti, 

Et nasum rigidi fallit ubique patris ; 
Saepe novos illic virgo mirata calores 

Quid sit amor nescit, dum quoque nescit amat: 
Sive cruentatum furiosa Tragoedia sceptrum 

Quassat, et efFusis crinibus ora rotat ; 



576 LATIN POEMS. 



Et dolet, et specto, juvat et spectasse dolendo ; 

Interdum et lacrymis dulcis amaror inest : 40 

Sen puer infelix indelibata reliquit 

Gaiidia, et abrupto flendus amore cadit ; 
Sen ferus e tenebris iterat Styga criminis ultor, 

Conscia funereo pectora torre movens ; 
Seu mceret Pelopeia domus, seu nobilis Hi, 

Aut luit incestos aula Creontis avos. 
Sed neque sub tecto semper nee in urbe latemus, 

Irrita nee nobis tempora veris eunt. 
Nos quoque lucus habet vicina consitus ulmo, 

Atque suburbani nobilis umbra loci. . 50 

Ssepius hie, blandas spirantia sidera flammas, 

Virgineos videas praeteriisse choros. 
Ah quoties dignse stupui miracula formae 

Quae possit senium vel reparare Jovis! 
Ah quoties vidi superantia ' lumina gemmas, 

Atque faces quotquot volvit uterque polus ; 
Collaque bis vivi Pelopis quee brachia vincant, 

Quaeque fluit puro nectare tincta via, 
Et decus eximium frontis, tremulosque capillos, 

Aurea quae fallax retia tendit Amor ; 60 

Pellacesque genas, ad quas hyacinthina sordet 

Purpura, et ipse tui floris, Adoni, rubor! 
Cedite laudatae toties Heroides olim, 

Et quascunque vagum cepit amica Jovem ; 
Cedite Achaemeniae turrita fronte puellae, 

Et quot Susa colunt, Memnoniamque Ninon ; 
Vos etiam Danaae fasces submittite Nymphae, 

Et vos Iliacae, Romuleaeque nurus ; 
Nee Pompeianas Tarpeia Musa columnas 

Jactet, et Ausoniis plena theatra stolis. 70 

Gloria virginibus debetur prima Britannis ; 

Extera sat tibi sit foemina posse sequi. 
Tuque urbs Dardaniis, Londinum, structa colonis, 

Turrigerum late conspicienda caput, 
Tu nimium felix intra tua moenia claudis 

Ouicquid formosi pendulus orbis habet. 
Non tibi tot caelo scintillant astra sereno, 

Endymioneas turba ministra deae, 
Quot tibi conspicuae formaque auroque puellas 

Per medias radiant turba videnda vias. 80 

Creditur hue geminis venisse invecta columbis 

Alma pharetrigero milite cincta Venus, 
Huic Cnidon, et riguas Simoentis flumine valles, 

Huic Paphon, et roseam posthabitura Cypron. 
Ast ego, dum pueri sinit indulgentia caeci, 



ELEGIA TERTIA. 



S77 



Moenia quam subito linquere fausta paro ; 
Et vitare procul malefidae infamia Circes 

Atria, divini Molyos usus ope. 
Stat quoque juncosas Cami remeare paludes, 

Atqiie iterum raiicae murmur adire Scholas. 90 

Interea fidi parvum cape munus amici, 

Paucaque in alternos verba coacta modos. 



ELEGIA SECUNDA. 

Anno cetatis 17. 
In obitum Pr^conis Academici Cantabrigiensis. 

Te, qui conspicuus baculo fulgente solebas 

Palladium toties ore ciere gregem, 
Ultima praeconum praeconfim te quoque Sceva 

Mors rapit, officio nee favet ipsa suo. 
Candidiora licet fuerint tibi tempora plumis 

Sub quibus accipimus delituisse Jovem, 
O dignus tamen Haemonio juvenescere succo, 

Dignus in ^sonios vivere posse dies, 
Dignus quem Stygiis medica revocaret ab undis 

Arte Coronides, saepe rogante dea. 
Tu si jussus eras acies accire togatas, 

Et celer a Phoebo nuntius ire tuo, 
Talis in Iliaca stabat Cyllenius aula 

Alipes, astherea missus ab arce Patris ; 
Talis et Eurybates ante ora furentis Achillei 

Rettulit Atridae jussa severa ducis. 
Magna sepulchronmi regina, satelles Averni, 

Saeva nimis Musis, Palladi saeva nimis, 
Quin illos rapias qui pondus inutile terrae? 

Turba quidem est telis ista petenda tuis. 
Vestibus hunc igitur pullis, Academia, luge, 

Et madeant lacrymis nigra feretra tuis. 
Fundat et ipsa modos querebunda Elegeia tristes, 

Personet et totis naenia moesta scholis. 



ELEGIA TERTIA. 

Anno cetatis 17. 

In obitum Pr^sulis Wintoniensis. 

McESTUS eram, et tacitus, nullo comitante, sedebam, 
Hasrebantque animo tristia plura meo ; 



578 LATIN POEMS. 



Protinus en siibiit funestag cladis imago 

Fecit in Angliaco quam Libitina solo ; 
Dum procerum ingressa est splendentes marmore turres 

Dira sepulchrali Mors metuenda face, 
Pulsavitque auro gravidos et jaspide muros, 

Nee metuit satrapum sternere falce greges. 
Tunc memini clarique ducis, fratrisque verendi, 

Intempestivis ossa cremata rogis ; lo 

Et memini Heroum qiios vidit ad ^tliera raptos, 

Flevit et amissos Belgia tota duces. 
At te praecipue luxi, dignissime Praesul, 

Wintoniaeque olim gloria magna tuae ; 
Delicui fletu, et tristi sic ore querebar : 

'' Mors fera, Tartareo diva secunda Jovi, 
Nonne satis quod sylva tuas persentiat iras, 

Et quod in herbosos jus tibi detur agros, 
Quodque afflata tuo marcescant lilia tabo, 

Et crocus, et pulchrae Cypridi sacra rosa? 20 

Nee sinis ut semper fluvio contermina quercus 

Miretur lapsus prcetereuntis aquae ; 
Et tibi succumbit liquido quae plurima caelo 

Evehitur pennis, quamlibet augur, avis, 
Et qu^ mille nigris errant animalia sylvis, 

Et quod alunt mutum Proteos antra pecus. 
Invida, tanta tibi cum sit concessa potestas, 

Quid juvat humana tingere caede manus? 
Nobileque in pectus certas acuisse sagittas, 

Semideamque animam sede fugasse sua?" 30 

Talia dum lacrymans alto sub pectore volvo, 

Roscidus occiduis Hesperus exit aquis, 
Et Tartessiaco submerserat aequore currum 

Phoebus, ab Eoo littore mensus iter. 
Nee mora ; membra cavo posui refovenda cubili ; 

Condiderant oculos noxque soporque meos, 
Cum mihi visus eram lato spatiarier agro ; 

Heu ! nequit ingenium visa referre meum. 
Illic punicea radiabant omnia luce, 

Ut matutino cum juga sole rubent ; 40 

Ac veluti cum pandit opes Thaumantia proles 

Vestitu nituit multicolore solum ; 
Non dea tam variis ornavit floribus hortos 

Alcinoi Zephyro Chloris amata levi. 
Flumina vernantes lambunt argentea campos ; 

Ditior Hesperio flavet arena Tago ; 
Serpit odoriferas per opes levis aura Favoni^ 

Aura sub innumeris humida nata rosis : 
Talis in extremis terrae Gangetidis oris 



ELEGIA QUARTA. S79 



Luciferi regis fingitur esse domus. 50 

Ipse racemiferis dum densas vitibus umbras 

Et pellucentes miror ubique locos, 
Ecce mihi subito Praesul Wintonius astat ! 

Sidereum nitido fulsit in ore jubar; 
Vestis ad auratos defluxit Candida talos ; 

Infula diviniim cinxerat alba caput. 
Dumque senex tali incedit venerandus aniictu, 

Intremuit laeto florea terra sono ; 
Agmina gemmatis plaudunt caelestia pennis ; 

Pura triumphali personat aethra tuba. 60 

Quisque novum amplexu comitem cantuque salutat, 

Hosque aliquis placido misit ab ore sonos : 
"Nate, veni, et patrii felix cape gaudia regni ; 

Semper abhinc duro, nate, labore vaca.^^ 
Dixit, et aligerae tetigerunt nablia turmae ; 

At mihi cum tenebris aurea pulsa quies ; 
Flebam turbatos Cephaleia pellice somnos. 

Talia contingant somnia saepe mihi ! 



ELEGIA QUARTA. 

Anno (ztatis 18. 
Ad THOMAM JUNIUM, Pr^ceptorem suum, apud Mercatores 

AnGLICOS HAMBURGiE AGENTES PaSTORIS MUNERE FUNGENTEM. 

CuRRE per immensum subito, mea littera, pontum ; 

I, pete Teutonicos lasve per aequor agros ; 
Segnes nmipe moras, et nil, precor, obstet eunti, 

Et festinantis nil remoretur iter. 
Ipse ego Sicanio fraenantem carcere ventos 

vEolon, et virides sollicitabo Deos, 
Caeruleamque suis comitatam Dorida Nymphis, 

Ut tibi dent placidam per sua regna viam. 
At tu, si poteris, celeres tibi sume jugales, 

Vecta quibus Colchis fugit ab ore viri ; 10 

Aut quels Triptolemus Scythicas devenit in oras, 

Gratus Eleusina missus ab urbe puer. 
Atque, ubi Germanas flavere videbis arenas, 

Ditis ad Hamburgae moenia flecte gradum, 
Dicitur occiso qu;^ ducere nomen ab Hama, 

Cimbrica quem fertur clava dedisse neci. 
Vivit ibi antiquae clams pietatis honore 

Praesul, Christicolas pascere doctus oves ; 
Ille quidem est animae plusquam pars altera nostrae ; 

Dimidio vitae vivere cogor ego. 20 



Hei mihi, quot pelagi, quot montes interject!, 

Me faciunt alia parte carere mei ! 
Charior ille mihi quam tu, doctissime Graium, 

Cliniadi, pronepos qui Telamonis erat ; 
Quamque Stagirites generoso magnus alumno, 

Quern peperit Lybico Chaonis alma Jovi. 
Qualis Amyntorides, qualis Philyreius Heros 

Myrmidonum regi, talis et ille mihi. 
Primos ego Aonios illo praeeunte recessus 

Lustrabam, et bifidi sacra vireta jugi, 30 

Pieriosque hausi latices, Clioque favente 

Castalio sparsi laeta ter ora mero. 
Flammeus at signum ter viderat arietis ^thon 

Induxitque auro laiiea terga novo, 
Bisque novo terram sparsisti, Chlori, senilem 

Gramine, bisque tuas abstulit Auster opes ; 
Necdum ejus licuit mihi lumina pascere vultu, 

Aut linguae dulces aure bibisse sonos, 
Vade igitur, cursuque Eurum praeverte sonorum ; 

Quam sit opus monitis res docet, ipsa vides. 40 

Invenies dulci cum conjuge forte sedentem, 

Mulcentem gremio pignora chara suo ; 
Forsitan aut veterum praelarga volumina Patrum 

Versantem, aut veri Bibilia sacra Dei, 
Caelestive animas saturantem rore tenellas, 

Grande salutiferae religionis opus. 
Utque solet, multam sit dicere cura salutem, 

Dicere quam decuit, si modo adesset, herum. 
Haec quoque, paulum oculos in humum defixa modestos, 

Verba verecundo sis memor ore loqui : 50 

" Haec tibi, si teneris vacat inter praelia Musis, 

Mittit ab Angliaco littore fida manus. 
Accipe sinceram, quamvis sit sera, salutem ; 

Fiat et hoc ipso gratior ilia tibi. 
Sera quidem, sed vera fuit, quam casta recepit 

Icaris a lento Penelopeia viro. 
Ast ego quid volui manifestum tollere crimen. 

Ipse quod ex omni parte levare nequit? 
Arguitur tardus merito, noxamque fatetur, 

Et pudet officium deseruisse suum. 60 

Tu modo da veniam fasso, veniamque roganti ; 

Crimina diminui quae patuere solent. 
Non ferus in pavidos rictus diducit hiantes, 

Vulnifico pronos nee rapit ungue leo. 
Saepe sarissiferi crudelia pectora Thracis 

Supplicis ad mcestas delicuere preces ; 
Extensaeque manus avertunt fulminis ictus, 



ELEGIA QUARTA. 581 



Placat et iratos hostia parva Deos. 
Jamque diu scripsisse tibi fuit impetus illi, 

Neve moras ultra ducere passus Amor ; 70 

Nam vaga Fama refert, heu nuntia vera malorum ! 

In tibi finitimis bella tumere locis, 
Teque tuamque urbem truculento milite cingi, 

Et jam Saxonicos arma parasse duces. 
Te circum late campos populatur Enyo, 

Et sata carne virum jam cruor arva rigat. 
Germanisque suum concessit Thracia Martem ; 

Illuc Odrysios Mars pater egit equos ; 
Perpetuoque comans jam deflorescit oliva ; 

Fugit et aerisonam Diva perosa tubam, 80 

Fugit, io ! terris, et jam non ultima Virgo 

Creditur ad superas justa volasse domos. 
Te tamen interea belli circumsonat horror, 

Vivis et ignoto solus inopsque solo ; 
Et, tibi quam patrii non exhibuere penates, 

Sede peregrina quaeris egenus opem. 
Patria, dura parens, et saxis saevior albis 

Spumea quae pulsat littoris unda tui, 
Siccine te decet innocuos exponere foetus, 

Siccine in externam ferrea cogis humum, 90 

Et sinis ut terris quaerant alimenta remotis 

Quos tibi prospiciens miserat ipse Deus, 
Et qui laeta ferunt de caelo nuntia, quique 

Quae via post cineres ducat ad astra docent? 
Digna quidem Stygiis quae vivas clausa tenebris, 

yEternaque animae digna perire fame ! 
Haud aliter vates terrae Thesbitidis olim 

Pressit inassueto devia tesqua pede, 
Desertasque Arabum salebras, dum regis Achabi 

Effugit, atque tuas, Sidoni dira, manus. 100 

Talis et, horrisono laceratus membra flagello, 

Paulus ab ^mathia pellitur urbe Cilix ; 
Piscosaeque ipsum Gergessae civis lesum 

Finibus ingratus jussit abire suis. 
At tu sume animos, nee spes cadat anxia curis, 

Nee tua concutiat decolor ossa metus. 
Sis etenim quamvis fulgentibus obsitus armis, 

Intententque tibi millia tela necem. 
At nullis vel inerme latus violabitur armis. 

Deque tuo cuspis nulla cruore bibet. no 

Namque eris ipse Dei radiante sub asgide tutus ; 

Ille tibi custos, et pugil ille tibi ; 
Ille Sionaeae qui tot sub moenibus arcis 

Assyrios fudit nocte silente viros ; 



582 LATIN POEMS. 



Inque fugam vertit quos in Samaritidas oras 

Misit ab antiquis prisca Damascus agris ; 
Terruit et densas pavido cum rege cohortes, 

Aere dum vacuo buccina clara sonat, 
Cornea pulvereum dum verberat ungula campum, 

Currus arenosam dum quatit actus humum, 
Auditurque hinnitus equorum ad bella ruentum, 

Et strepitus ferri, murmuraque alta virum. 
Et tu (quod superest miseris) sperare memento, 

Et tua magnanimo pectore vince mala ; 
Nee dubites quandoque frui melioribus annis, 

Atque iterum patrios posse videre lares." 



ELEGIA QUINTA. 

Anno (e talis 20. 
In Adventum Veris. 

In se perpetuo Tempus revolubile gyro 

Jam revocat Zephyros, vere tepente, novos ; 
Induiturque brevem Tellus reparata juventam, 

Jamque soluta gelu dulce virescit humus. 
Fallor? an et nobis redeunt in carmina vires, 

Ingeniumque mihi munere veris adest? 
Munere veris adest, iterumque vigescit ab illo 

(Quis putet.'*) atque aliquod jam sibi poscit opus. 
Castalis ante oculos, bifidumque cacumen oberrat, 

Et mihi Pirenen somnia nocte ferunt ; 10 

Concitaque arcano fervent mihi pectora motu, 

Et furor, et sonitus me sacer intus agit. 
Delius ipse venit (video Peneide lauro 

Implicitos crines), Delius ipse venit. 
Jam mihi mens liquidi raptatur in ardua casli, 

Perque vagas nubes corpore liber eo ; 
Perque umbras, perque antra feror, penetralia vatum ; 

Et mihi fana patent interiora Deum ; 
Intuiturque animus toto quid agatur Olympo, 

Nee fugiunt oculos Tartara caeca meos. 20 

Quid tam grande sonat distento spiritus ore? 

Quid parit hasc rabies, quid sacer iste furor? 
Ver mihi, quod dedit ingenium, cantabitur .illo ; 

Profuerint isto reddita dona modo. 
Jam, Philomela, tuos, foliis adoperta novellis, 

Instituis modulos, dum silet omne nemus : 
Urbe ego, tu sylva, simul incipiamus utrique. 



ELECTA QUINTA. 583 



Et simiil adventum veris uterque canat. 
Veris, io ! rediere vices ; celebremus honores 

Veris, et hoc subeat Musa perennis opus. 30 

Jam sol, /Ethiopas fugiens Tithoniaque arva, 

Flectit ad Arctoas aurea lora plagas. 
Est breve noctis iter, brevis est mora noctis opacae, 

Horrida cum tenebris exulat ilia suis. 
Jamque Lycaonius plaustrum caeleste Bootes 

Non longa sequitur fessus ut ante via ; 
Nunc etiam solitas circum Jovis atria toto 

Excubias agitant sidera rara polo. 
Nam dolus, et caedes, et vis cum nocte recessit, 

Neve Giganteum Dii timuere scelus. 40 

Forte aliquis scopuli recubans in vertice pastor, 

Roscida cum primo sole rubescit humus, 
" Hac," ait, '' hac certe caruisti nocte puella, 

Phoebe, tua, celeres quae retineret equos." 
Laeta suas repetit sylvas, pharetramque resumit 

Cynthia, luciferas ut videt alta rotas, 
Et, tenues ponens radios, gaudere videtur 

Officium fieri tam breve fratris ope. 
" Desere,'' Phoebus ait, " thalamos, Aurora, seniles ; 

Quid juvat effoeto procubuisse toro? 50 

Te manet bolides viridi venator in herba ; 

Surge; tuos ignes altus Hymettus habet." 
Flava verecundo dea crimen in ore fatetur, 

Et matutinos ociiis urget equos. 
Exuit invisam Tellus rediviva senectam, 

Et cupit amplexus, Phoebe, subire tuos. 
Et cupit, et digna est ; quid enim formosius ilia, 

Pandit ut omniferos luxuriosa sinus, 
Atque Arabum spirat messes, et ab ore venusto 

Mitia cum Paphiis fundit amoma rosis? 60 

Ecce, coronatur sacro frons ardua luco, 

Cingit ut Idaeam pinea turris Opim ; 
Et vario madidos intexit flore capillos, 

Floribus et visa est posse placere suis. 
Floribus effusos ut erat redimita capillos, 

Taenario placuit diva Sicana Deo. 
Aspice, Phoebe ; tibi faciles hortantur amores, 

Mellitasque movent flamina verna preces ; 
Cinnamea Zephyrus leve plaudit odorifer ala ; 

Blanditiasque tibi ferre videntur aves. 70 

Nee sine dote tuos temeraria quierit amores 

Terra, nee optatos poscit egena toros ; 
Alma salutifemm medicos tibi gramen in usus 

Praebetj et hinc titulos adjuvat ipsa tuos. 



584 LATIN POEMS. 



Quod si te pretium, si te fulgentia tangunt 

Munera (muneribus saepe coemptus amor), 
Ilia tibi ostentat quascuiique sub aequore vasto, 

Et superinjectis montibus, abdit opes. 
Ah ! quoties, cum tu clivoso fessus Olympo 

In vespertinas praecipitaris aquas, 80 

" Cur te," inquit, " cursu languentem, Phoebe, diurno 

Hesperiis recipit caerula mater aquis? 
Quid tibi cum Tethy? quid cum Tartesside lympha? 

Dia quid immundo perluis ora salo? 
Frigora, Phoebe, mea melius captabis in umbra ; 

Hue ades ; ardentes imbue rore comas. 
Mollior egelida veniet tibi somnus in herba ; 

Hue ades, et gremio lumina pone meo. 
Quaque jaces circum mulcebit lene susurrans 

Aura per humentes corpora fusa rosas. 90 

Nee me (crede mihi) terrent Semeleia fata, 

Nee Phaetonteo fumidus axis equo ; 
Cum tu, Phoebe, tuo sapientius uteris igni, 

Hue ades, et gremio lumina pone meo." 
Sic Telkis lasciva suos suspirat amores ; 

Matris in exemplum caetera turba ruunt. 
Nunc etenim toto currit vagus orbe Cupido, 

Languentesque fovet solis ab igne faces. 
Insonuere novis lethalia cornua nervis, 

Triste micant ferro tela corusca novo. loo 

Jamque vel invictam tentat superasse Dianam, 

Quaeque sedet sacro Vesta pudica foco. 
Ipsa senescentem reparat Fenus annua formam, 

Atque itemm tepido creditur orta mari. 
Marmoreas juvenes clamant Hyinencee per urbes ; 

Littus 20 Hymen et cava saxa sonant. 
Cultior ille venit, tunicaque decentior apta ; 

Puniceum redolet vestis odora crocum. 
Egrediturque frequens ad amoeni gaudia veris 

Virgineos auro cincta puella sinus. no 

Votum est cuique suum ; votum est tamen omnibus unum, 

Ut sibi quem cupiat det Cytherea virum. 
Nunc quoque septena modulatur arundine pastor, 

Et sua quae jungat carmina Phyllis habet. 
Navita nocturno placat sua sidera cantu, 

Delphinasque leves ad vada summa vocat. 
Jupiter ipse alto cum conjuge ludit Olympo, 

Convocat et famulos ad sua festa Deos. 
Nunc etiam Satyri, cum sera crepuscula surgunt, 

Pervolitant celeri florea rura choro, 120 

Sylvanusque sua cyparissi fronde revinctus, 



ELECTA SEXTA. 585 



Semicaperque Deus, semideusque caper. 
Quaeque sub arboribus Dryades latuere vetustis 

Per juga, per solos expatiantur agros. 
Per sata luxuriat fruticetaque Maenalius Pan ; 

Vix Cybele mater, vix sibi tuta Ceres ; 
Atque aliquam cupidus praedatur Oreada Faunus, 

Consulit in trepidos dum sibi nympha pedes, 
Jamque latet, latitansque cupit male tecta videri, 

Et fugit, et fugiens pervelit ipsa capi. 130 

Dii quoque non dubitant caelo pr^ponere sylvas, 

Et sua quisque sibi numina lucus habet. 
Et sua quisque diu sibi numina lucus habeto, 

Nee vos arborea, dii, precor, ite domo. 
Te referant, miseris te, Jupiter, aurea terris 

Saecla ! quid ad nimbos, aspera tela, redis? 
Tu saltern lente rapidos age, Phoebe, jugales 

Qua potes, et sensim tempora veris eant : 
Brumaque productas tarde ferat hispida noctes, 

Ingruat et nostro serior umbra polo ! 140 



ELECTA SEXTA. 
AD CAROLUM DIODATUM, ruri commorantem ; 

Qui, cum Idibus Decetnb. scripsisset, et sua carmina excusari postuldsset si solito minus 
essent bona, quod inter lautitias qnibus erat ab amicis exceptus haud satis fe lie em 
operam Musis dare se posse affirmabat, hoc habuit responsum. 

MiTTO tibi sanam non pleno ventre salutem, 

Qua tu distento forte carere potes. 
At tua quid nostram prolectat Musa camoenam, 

Nee sinit optatas posse sequi tenebras? 
Carmine scire velis quam te redamemque colamque; 

Crede mihi vix hoc carmine scire queas. 
Nam neque noster amor modulis includitur arctis, 

Nee venit ad claudos integer ipse pedes. 
Quam bene solennes epulas, hilaremque Decembrim, 

Festaque caelifugam quae coluere Deum, 10 

Deliciasque refers, hiberni gaudia ruris, 

Haustaque per lepidos Gallica musta focos ! 
Quid quereris refugam vino dapibusque poesin? 

Carmen amat Bacchum, carmina Bacchus amat. 
Nee puduit Phoebum virides gestasse corymbos, 

Atque hederam lauro praeposuisse suai. 
Saepius Aoniis clamavit collibus Euce 



586 LATIN POEMS. 



Mista Thyoneo turba no vena choro. 
Naso Corallaeis mala carmina misit ab agris ; 

Non illic epulae, non sata vitis erat. 20 

Quid nisi vina, rosasque, racemiferumque Lyaeum, 

Cantavit brevibus Teia Musa modis? 
Pindaricosque inflat numeros Teumesius Euan, 

Et redolet sumptum pagina quaque memm ; 
Dum gravis everso currus crepat axe supinus, 

Et volat Eleo pulvere fuscus eques. 
Quadrimoque madens Lyricen Romanus laccho 

Dulce canit Glyceran, flavicomamque Chloen. 
Jam quoque lauta tibi generoso mensa paratu 

Mentis alit vires, ingeniumque fovet. . 30 

Massica foecundam despumant pocula venam, 

Fundis et ex ipso condita metra cado. 
Addimus his artes, fusumque per intima Phoebum 

Corda ; favent uni Bacchus, Apollo, Ceres. 
Scilicet haud mirum tam dulcia carmina per te, 

Numine composito, tres peperisse Deos. 
Nunc quoque Thressa tibi caelato barbitos auro 

Insonat arguta molliter icta manu ; 
Auditurque chelys suspensa tapetia circum, 

Virgineos tremula quae regat arte pedes. 40 

Ilia tuas saltern teneant spectacula Musas, 

Et revocent quantum crapula pellit iners. 
Crede mihi, dum psallit ebur, comitataque plectrum 

Implet odoratos festa chorea tholos, 
Percipies tacitum per pectora serpere Phoebum, 

Quale repentinus permeat ossa calor; 
Perque puellares oculos digitumque sonantem 

Irruet in totos lapsa Thaha sinus. 
Namque Elegia levis multorum cura deorum est, 

Et vocat ad numeros quemlibet ilia suos ; .50 

Liber adest elegis, Eratoque, Ceresque, Venusque, 

Et cum purpurea matre tenellus Amor. 
Talibus inde licent convivia larga poetis, 

Saepius et veteri commaduisse mero. 
At qui bella refert, et adulto sub Jove caelum, 

Heroasque pios, semideosque duces, 
Et nunc sancta canit superum consulta deorum, 

Nunc latrata fero regna profunda cane, 
Ille quidem parce, Samii pro more magistri, 

Vivat, et innocuos praebeat herba cibos ; 60 

Stet prope fagineo pellucida lympha catillo, 

Sobriaque e puro pocula fonte bibat. 
Additur huic scelerisque vacans et casta juventus, 

Et rigidi mores^ et sine labe manus ; 



ELECTA SEPT/MA. 587 



Qualis veste nitens sacra, et lustralibiis undis, 

Surgis ad infensos augur iture Deos. 
Hoc ritu vixisse femnt post rapta sagacem 

Lumina Tiresian, Ogygiumque Liiion, 
Et lare devoto profugum Calchanta, senemque 

Orpheon edomitis sola per antra feris ; 70 

Sic dapis exiguus, sic rivi potor Homerus 

Dulichium vexit per freta longa virum, 
Et per monstrificam Perseiae Phcebados aulam, 

Et vada foemineis insidiosa sonis, 
Perque tuas, rex ime. domos, ubi sanguine nigro 

Dicitur umbrarum detinuisse greges : 
Diis etenim sacer est vates, divumque sacerdos, 

Spirat et occultum pectus et ora Jovem. 
At tu si quid agam scitabere (si modo saltern 

Esse putas tanti noscere siquid agam). 80 

Paciferum canimus caelesti semine regem, 

Faustaque sacratis saecula pacta libris ; 
Vagitumque Dei, et stabulantem paupere tecto 

Qui suprema suo cum patre regna colit ; 
Stellipammque polum, modulantesque aethere turmas, 

Et subito elisos ad sua fana Deos. 
Dona quidem dedimus Christi natalibus ilia; 

Ilia sub auroram lux mihi prima tulit. 
Te quoque pressa manent patriis meditata cicutis ; 

Tu mihi, cui recitem, judicis instar eris. 90 



ELEGIA SEPTIMA. 

Anno atatis U7idevigesimo. 

NONDUM blanda tuas leges, Amathusia, noram, 

Et Paphio vacuum pectus ab igne fuit. 
Saepe cupidineas, puerilia tela, sagittas, 

Atque tuum sprevi maxime numen. Amor. 
" Tu puer imbelles '' dixi " transfige columbas ; 

Conveniunt tenero mollia bella duci : 
Aut de passeribus tumidos age, parve, triumphos ; 

Haec sunt militiae digna trophaea tuae. 
In genus humanum quid inania dirigis arma? 

Non valet in fortes ista pharetra viros." ^ 10 

Non tulit hoc Cyprius (neque enim Deus ullus ad iras 

Promptior), et' duplici jam ferus igne calet. 
Ver erat, et summae radians per culmina villae 

Attulerat primam lux tibi, Male, diem ; 



588 LATIN POEMS. 



At mihi adhuc refugam quaerebant lumina noctem, 

Nee matutinum sustinuere jubar. 
Astat Amor lecto, pictis Amor impiger alls ; 

Prodidit astantem mota pharetra Deum ; 
Prodidit et facies, et dulce minantis ocelli, 

Et quicquid puero dignum et Amore fuit. 20 

Talis in aeterno juvenis Sigeius Olympo 

Miscet amatori pocula plena Jovi ; 
Aut, qui formosas pellexit ad oscula nymphas, 

Thiodamantaeus Naiade raptus Hylas. 
Addideratque -iras, sed et has decuisse putares ; 

Addideratque truces, nee sine felle, minas. 
Et " Miser exemplo sapuisses tutius," inquit ; 

''Nunc mea quid possit dextera testis eris. 
Inter et expertos vires numerabere nostras, 

Et faeiam vero per tua damna fidem. 30 

Ipse ego, si nescis, strato Pythone superbum 

Edomui Phoebum, cessit et ille mihi ; 
Et, quoties meminit Peneidos, ipse fatetur 

Certius et gravius tela noeere mea. 
Me nequit adduetum eurvare peritius arcum, 

Qui post terga solet vincere, Parthus eques : 
Cydoniusque mihi cedit venator, et ille 

Inseius uxori qui necis author erat. 
Est etiam nobis ingens quoque victus Orion, 

Herculeaeque manus, Herculeusque comes. 40 

Jupiter ipse licet sua fulmina torqueat in me, 

Haerebunt lateri spicula nostra Jovis. 
Caetera quae dubitas meliiis mea tela docebunt, 

Et tua non leviter corda petenda mihi. 
Nee te, stulte, tuse poterunt defendere Musae ; 

Nee tibi Phoebasus porriget anguis opem." 
Dixit, et, aurato quatiens muerone sagittam, 

Evolat in tepidos Cypridos ille sinus. 
At mihi risuro tonuit ferus ore minaci, 

Et mihi de puero non metus ullus erat. 50 

Et modo qua nostri spatiantur in urbe Quirites, 

Et modo villanmi proxima rura placent. 
Turba frequens, facieque simillima turba dearum, 

Splendida per medias itque reditque vias ; 
Auctaque luce dies gemino fulgore coruseat. 

Fallor? an et radios hinc quoque Phoebus habet? 
Haec ego non fugi spectacula grata severus, 

Impetus et quo me fert juvenilis agor ; 
Lumina luminibus male providus obvia misi, 

Neve oculos potui continuisse meos. 60 

Unam forte aliis supereminuisse notabam ; 



ELEGIA SEPTIMA. 589 



Principium nostri lux erat ilia mali. 
Sic Veiuis optaret mortalibus ipsa videri, 

Sic regina Deum conspicienda fuit. 
Hanc memor objecit nobis malus ille Cupido, 

Solus et hos nobis texuit ante dolos. 
Nee procul ipse vafer latuit, multaeque sagittit, 

Et facis a tergo grande pependit onus. 
Nee mora ; nunc ciliis haesit, nunc virginis ori, 

Insilit hinc labiis, insidet inde genis ; 70 

Et quascunque agilis partes jaculator oberrat, 

Hei mihi ! mille locis pectus inerme ferit. 
'Protinus insoliti subierunt corda furores; 

Uror amans intiis, flammaque totus eram. 
Interea misero quae jam mihi sola placebat 

Ablata est, oculis non reditura meis ; 
Ast ego progredior tacite querebundus, et excors, 

Et dubius volui soepe referre pedem. 
Findor ; et haec remanet, sequitur pars altera votum ; 

Raptaque tam subito gaudia flere juvat. 80 

Sic dolet amissum proles Junonia caelum, 

Inter Lemniacos praecipitata focos ; 
Talis et abreptum solem respexit ad Orcum 

Vectus ab attonitis Amphiaraus equis. 
Quid faciam infelix, et luctu victus? Amores 

Nee licet inceptos ponere, neve sequi. 
O utinam spectare semel mihi detur amatos 

Vultus, et coram tristia verba loqui! 
Forsitan et duro non est adamante creata, 

Forte nee ad nostras surdeat ilia preces ! 90 

Crede mihi, nullus sic infeliciter arsit ; 

Ponar in exemplo primus et unus ego. 
Parce, precor, teneri cum sis Deus ales amoris ; 

Pugnent officio nee tua facta tuo. 
Jam tuus O certe est mihi formidabilis arcus, 

Nate dea, jaculis nee minus igne potens : 
Et tua fumabunt nostris altaria donis, 

Solus et in Superis tu mihi summus eris. 
Deme meos tandem, verum nee deme, furores ; 

Nescio cur, miser est suaviter omnis amans : 100 

Tu modo da facilis, posthaec mea siqua futura est, 

Cuspis amaturos figat ut una duos. 



H(2C ego 7nente oliin lavd, sUtdioqiie siipino^ 
N'eqiiiti(X posui vaiia trophcea viecp. 

Sciluet abreptjim sic me malus impidit error, 
Indocilisque cEtas prava luagistra fuit ; 



590 LATIN POEMS. 



Donee Soc?'aticos iimbrosa Acadeniia j-ivos 
PrcEbuity admissinn dedocuitqiie jiigutn. 

Protinus, extinctis ex illo te7npore flannnis, 
Cincta rigent iniilto pectora jiostra gelu ; 

Unde siiis frigus inetiiit piier ipse sagittis, 
Et Diomedeaftt vim ti?net ipsa Venus. 



[EPIGRAMMATA.] 

IN PRODITIONEM BOMBARDICAM. 

Cum simul in regem nuper satrapasque Britannos 

Ausus es infandum, perfide Fauxe, nefas, 
Fallor? an et mitis voluisti ex parte videri, 

Et pensare mala cum pietate scelus? 
Scilicet hos alti missurus ad atria caeli, 

Sulphiireo curru flammivolisque rotis ; 
Qualiter ille, feris caput inviolabile Parcis, 

Liquit lordanios turbine raptus agros. 

IN EANDEM. 

SiCCiNE tentasti caelo donasse lacobum, 

Quae septemgemino Bellua monte lates? 
Ni meliora tuum poterit dare munera numen, 

Parce, precor, donis insidiosa tuis. 
Ille quidem sine te consortia serus adivit 

Astra, nee inferni pulveris usus ope. 
Sic potius foedos in caelum pelle cucullos, 

Et quot habet brutos Roma profana Deos ; 
Namque hac aut alia nisi quemque adjuveris arte, 

Crede mihi, caeli vix bene scandet iter. 

IN EANDEM. 

PuRGATOREM animae derisit lacobus ignem, 

Et sine quo superum non adeunda domus. 
Frenduit hoc trina monstrum Latiale corona, 

Movit et horrificum cornua dena minax. 
Et " Nee inultus " ait " temnes mea sacra, Britanne ; 

Supplicium spreta religione dabis ; 
Et, si stelligeras unquam penetraveris arces, 

Non nisi per flammas triste patebit iter." 
O quam funesto cecinisti proxima vero, 

Verbaque ponderibus vix caritura suis ! 
Nam prope Tartareo sublime rotatus ab igni 

Ibat ad aethereas, umbra perusta, plagas. 



EPIGRAMMATA. 



591 



IN EANDEM. 



QuEM moclo Roma siiis devoverat impia diris, 
Et Styge damnarat, Tcenarioque sinu, 

Hunc, vice mutata, jam tollere gestit ad astra, 
Et cupit; ad superos evehere usque Deos. 



IN INVENTOREM BOMBARDS. 

Iapetionidem laudavit caeca vetustas, 
Qui tulit aetheream solis ab axe facem ; 

At mihi major erit qui lurida creditur arma 
Et trifidum fulmen surripuisse Jovi. 



AD LEONORAM ROM^ CANENTEM. 

Angelus unicuique suus (sic credite, gentes) 

Obtigit aethereis ales ab ordinibus. 
Quid mirum, Leonora, tibi si gloria major? 

Nam tua praesentem vox sonat ipsa Deum. 
Aut Deus, aut vacui certe mens tertia caeli, 

Per tua secreto guttura serpit agens ; 
Serpit agens, facilisque docet mortalia corda 

Sensim immortali assuescere posse sono. 
Quod, si cuncta quidem Deus est, per cunctaque fusus, 

In te una loquitur, csetera mutus habet. 



AD EANDEM. 

Altera Torquatum cepit Leonora poetam, 

Cujus ab insano cessit amore furens. 
Ah miser ille tuo quanto felicius ^evo 

Perditus, et propter te, Leonora, foret! 
Et te Pieria sensisset voce canentem 

Aurea maternae fila movere lyrae! 
Quamvis Dircaeo torsisset lamina Pentheo 

Saevior, aut totus desipuisset iners, 
Tu tamen errantes ceeca vertigine sensus 

Voce eadem poteras composuisse tua ; 10 

Et poteras, aegro spirans sub corde quietem, 

Flexanimo cantu restituisse sibi. 



592 



LATIN POEMS, 



AD EANDEM. 

Credula quid liquidam Sirena, Neapoli, jactas, 

Claraque Parthenopes fana Acheloiados, 
Littoreamque tua defunctam Naiada ripa 

Corpore Chalcidico sacra dedisse rogo? 
Ilia quidem vivitque, et amoena Tibridis unda 

Miitavit rauci murmura Pausilipi. 
lUic, Romulidum studiis ornata secundis, 

Atque homines cantu detinet atque Deos. 



APOLOGUS DE RUSTICO ET HERO. 

RUSTICUS ex malo sapidissima poma quotannis 

Legit, et urbano lecta dedit Domino : 
Hie, incredibili fmctus dulcedine captus, 

Malum ipsam in proprias transtulit areolas. 
Hactenus ilia ferax, sed longo debilis ?evo, 

Mota solo assueto, protinus aret iners. 
Quod tandem ut patuit Domino, spe lusus inani, 

Damnavit celeres in sua damna manus ; 
Atque ait, " Heu quanto satius fuit ilia Coloni 

(Parva licet) grato dona tulisse animo ; 
Possem ego avaritiam frsenare, gulamque voracem 

Nunc periere mihi et fcetus et ipse parens." 



[de moro.] 

Galli ex concubitu gravidam te, Pontia, Mori 
Quis bene moratam morigeramque neget? 



AD CHRISTINAM, SUECORUM REGINAM, NOMINE CROMWELLI. 

Bellipotens Virgo, Septem regina Trionum, 

Christina, Arctoi lucida stella poH! 
Cernis quas merui dura sub casside rugas, 

Utque senex armis impiger ora tero, 
Invia fatorum dum per vestigia nitor, 

Exequor et populi fortia jussa manu. 
Ast tibi submittit frontem reverentior umbra; 

Nee sunt hi vultus Regibus usque truces. 

Elegiaru?n Finis. 



IN OBITUM PROCANCELLARII MEDICI. 593 



SYLVARUM LIBER. 

Anno (ctatis I J. 

IN OBITUM PROCANCELLARII MEDICI. 

Parere Fati discite legibus, 
Manusque Parc^ jam date supplices, 
Qui pendulum telluris orbem 
lapeti colitis nepotes. 
Vos si relicto Mors vaga Taenaro 
Semel vocarit flebilis, heu! morae 
Tentantur incassum dolique ; 

Per tenebras Stygis ire certum est. 
Si destinatam pellere dextera 

Mortem valeret, non ferus Hercules to 

Nessi venenatus cruore 
/^mathia jacuisset CEta ; 
Nee fraude turpi palladis invida? 
Vidisset occisum llion Hectora, aut 
Quem larva Pelidis peremit 
Ense Locro, Jove lacrymante. 
Si triste Fatum verba Hecateia 
Fugare possint, Telegoni parens 
Vixisset infamis, potentique 

^giali soror usa virga. 20 

Numenque trinum fallere si queant 
Artes medentum, ignotaque gramina, 
Non gnarus herbarum Machaon 
Eurypyli cecidisset hasta ; 
Laesisset et nee te, Philyreie, 
Sagitta Echidnae perlita sanguine ; 
Nee tela te fulmenque avitum, 
Ccese puer genetricis alvo. 
Tuque, O alumno major Apolline, 

Gentis togatas cui regimen datum, y 

Frondosa quem nunc Cirrha luget, 
Et mediis Helicon in undis, 
Jam praefuisses Palladio gregi 
Laetus superstes, nee sine gloria; 
Nee puppe lustrasses Charontis 
Horribiles barathri recessus. 



594 LATIN POEMS: SYLV^. 

At fila mpit Persephone tua, 
Irata cum te viderit artibus 
Succoque pollenti tot atris 
Faucibus eripuisse Mortis. 40 

Colende Preeses, membra precor tua 
Molli quiescant cespite, et ex tuo 
Crescant rosae calthaeque busto, 
Purpureoque hyacinthus ore. 
Sit mite de te judicium yEaci, 
Subrideatque /Etnaea Proserpina, 
Interque felices perennis 
Elysio spatiere campo! 

IN QUINTUM NOVEMBRIS. 

Anno (ctatis 17. 

Jam pius extrema veniens lacobus ab arcto 

Teucrigenas populos, lateque patentia regna 

Albionum tenuit, jamque inviolabile foedus 

Sceptra Caledoniis conjunxerat Anglica Scotis : 

Pacificusque novo, felix divesque, sedebat 

In solio, occultique doli securus et hostis : 

Cum ferus ignifluo regnans Acheronte tyrannus, 

Eumenidum pater, aethereo vagus exul Olympo, 

Forte per immensum terrarum erraverat orbem, 

Dinumerans sceleris socios, vernasque fideles, 10 

Participes regni post funera moesta futuros. 

Hie tempestates medio ciet aere diras ; 

Illic unanimes odium struit inter amicos : 

Armat et invictas in mutua viscera gentes, 

Regnaque olivifera vertit florentia pace ; 

Et quoscunque videt puras virtutis amantes, 

Hos cupit adjicere imperio, fraudumque magister 

Tentat inaccessum sceleri cornimpere pectus ; 

Insidiasque locat tacitas, cassesque latentes 

Tendit, ut incautos rapiat, ceu Caspia, tigris 20 

Insequitur trepidam deserta per avia praedam 

Nocte sub illuni, et somno nictantibus astris. 

Talibus infestat populos Summanus et urbes, 

Cinctus caeruleae fumanti turbine flamnice. 

Jamque fluentisonis albentia rupibus arva 

Apparent, et terra Deo dilecta marino, 

Cui nomen dederat quondam Neptunia proles, 

Ampliitryoniaden qui non dubitavit atrocem, 

^quore tranato, furiali poscere bello, 

Ante expugnatae crudelia saecula Trojae. 30 



IN QUINTUM NOVEMBRIS. 595 



At simul banc, opibusque et festa pace beatam, 
Aspicit, et pingues donis Cerealibus agros, 
Quodque magis doluit, venerantem numina veri 
Sancta Dei populum, tandem suspiria rupit 
Tartareos ignes et luridum olentia sulphur; 
Oualia Trinacria trux ab Jove clausus in ^tna 
Efflat tabifico monstrosus ab ore Typhoeus. 
Ignescunt oculi, stridetque adamantinus ordo 
Dentis, ut armorvim fragor, ictaque cuspide cuspis ; 
Atque "Pererrato solum hoc lacrymabile mundo ^o 

Inveni " dixit ; " gens haec mihi sola rebellis, 
Contemtrixque jugi, nostraque potentior arte. 
Ilia tamen, mea si quicquam tentamina possunt, 
Non feret hoc impune diu, non ibit inulta."^ 
Hactenus; et piceis liquido natat aere pennis : 
Qua volat, adversi praecursant agmine venti, 
Densantur nubes, et crebra tonitrua fulgent. 
Jamque pruinosas velox superaverat Alpes, 
Et tenet Ausoniae fines. A parte sinistra 
Nimbifer Apenninus erat, priscique Sabini ; 50 

Dextra veneficiis infamis Hetruria; nee non 
Te furtiva, Tibris, Thetidi videt oscula dantem : 

Hinc Mavortigenae consistit in arce Ouirini. 

Reddiderant dubiam jam sera crepuscula lucem, 

Cum circumgreditur totam Tricoronifer urbem, 

Panificosque Deos portat, scapulisque virorum 

Evehitur; praeeunt submisso poplite reges, 

Et mendicantum series longissima fratnim ; 

Cereaque in manibus gestant funalia caeci, 

Cimmeriis nati in tenebris vitamque trahentes. 00 

Templa dein multis subeunt lucentia taedis 

(Vesper erat sacer iste Petro), fremitusque canentum 

Scepe tholos implet vacuos, et inane locorum : 

Qualiter exululat Bromius, Bromiique caterva, 

Orgia cantantes in Echionio Aracyntho, 

Dum tremit attonitus vitreis Asopus in undis, 

Et procul ipse cava responsat rupe Cithaeron. 
His igitur tandem solenni more peractis, 

Nox senis amplexus Erebi taciturna reliqmt, 

Prsecipitesque impellit equos stimulante flagello, 70 

Captum oculis Typhlonta, Melanchaetemque ferocem, 

Atque Acherontaeo prognatam patre Siopen 

Torpidam, et hirsutis horrentem Phrica capillis. 
Interea regum domitor, Phlegetontius haeres, 

Ingreditur thalamos (neque enim secretus adulter 

Producit steriles molli sine pellice noctes) ; 

At vix compositos somnus claudebat ocellos 



596 LATIN POEMS: SYLV^. 

Cum niger umbrarum dominus, rectorque silentum, 

Praedatorque hominum, falsa sub imagine tectus 

Astitit. Assumptis micuerunt tempora canis ; 80 

Barba sinus promissa tegit ; cineracea longo 

Syrmate verrit humum vestis ; pendetque cucullus 

Vcrtice de raso ; et, ne quicquam desit ad artes, 

Cannabeo lumbos constrinxit fune salaces, 

Tarda fenestratis figens vestigia calceis. 

Talis, uti fama est, vasta Franciscus eremo 

Tetra vagabatur solus per lustra ferarum, 

Sylvestrique tulit genti pia verba salutis 

Impius, atque lupos domuit, Libycosque leones. 

Subdolus at tali Serpens velatus amictu • 90 

Solvit in has fallax ora execrantia voces : 
" Dormis, nate? Etiamne tuos sopor opprimit artus? 
Immemor O fidei, pecorumque oblite tuorum ! 
Dum cathedram, venerande, tuam diademaque triplex 
Ridet Hyperboreo gens barbara nata sub axe, 
Dumque pharetrati spernunt tua jura Britanni : 
Surge, age ! surge piger, Latins quem Caesar adorat, 
Cui reserata patet convexi janua c£eli ; 
Turgentes animos et fastus frange procaces, 
Sacrilegique sciant tua quid maledictio possit, 100 

Et quid Apostolicae possit custodia clavis ; \ 

Et memor Hesperiae disjectam ulciscere classem, , 

Mersaque Iberorum lato vexilla profundo, \ 

Sanctorumque cruci tot corpora fixa probrosae, \ 

Thermodoontea nuper regnante puella. I 

At tu si tenero mavis torpescere lecto, ! 

Crescentesque negas hosti contundere vires, | 

Tyrrhenum implebit numeroso milite pontum, | 

Signaque Aventino ponet fulgentia colle ; | 

Relliquias veterum franget, flammisque cremabit, no 

Sacraque calcabit pedibus tua colla profanis, 
Cujus gaudebant soleis dare basia reges. 
Nee tamen hunc bellis et aperto Marte lacesses ; 
Irritus ille labor ; tu callidus utere fraude : 
Quaelibet haereticis disponere retia fas est. \ 

Jamque ad consilium extremis rex magnus ab oris ^ 

Patricios vocat, et procerum de stirpe creatos, \ 

Grandaevosque patres trabea canisque verendos : % 

Hos tu membratim poteris conspergere in auras, I 

Atque dare in cineres, nitrati pulveris igne 120 | 

^dibus injecto, qua convenere, sub imis. b 

Protinus ipse igitur quoscunque habet Anglia fidos | 

Propositi factique mone : quisquamne tuorum | 

Audebit summi non jussa lacessere Papae? I 



IN QUINTUM NOVEMBRIS. S97 



Perculsosque metu subito, casuque stupentes, 

Invadat vel Gallus atrox, vel saevus Iberus. 

Saecula sic illic tandem Mariana redibunt, 

Tuque in belligeros iterum dominaberis Anglos. 

Et, nequid timeas, divos divasque secundas 

Accipe, quotque tuis celebrantur numina fastis." 130 

Dixit, et adscitos ponens malefidus amictus 

Fugit ad infandam, regnum illfetabile, Lethen. 

Jam rosea Eoas pandens Tithonia portas 
Vestit inauratas redeunti lumine terras ; 
Moestaque adhuc nigri deplorans funera nati 
Irrigat ambrosiis montana cacumina guttis ; 
Cum somnos pepulit stellatze janitor aulae, 
Nocturnos visus et somnia grata revolvens. 

Est locus aeterna septus caligine noctis, 
Vasta ruinosi quondam fundamina tecti, 140 

Nunc torvi spelunca Phoni, Prodotaeque bilinguis, 
Effera quos uno peperit Discordia partu. 
Hie inter caementa jacent praeruptaque saxa 
Ossa inhumata virum, et trajecta cadavera ferro ; 
Hie Dolus intortis semper sedet ater ocellis, 
JurgiaquCj et stimulis armata Calumnia fauces ; 
fLt Furor, atque viae moriendi mille, videntur, 
Et Timor ; exanguisque locum circumvolat Horror ; 
Perpetuoque leves per muta silentia Manes 
Exululant ; tellus et sanguine conscia stagnat. 150 

Ipse etiam pavidi latitant penetralibus antri 
Et Phonos et Prodotes ; nulloque sequente per antrum, 
Antrum horrens, scopulosum, atrum feralibus umbris, 
Diflfugiunt sontes, et retro lumina vortunt. 
Hos pugiles Romae per saecula longa fideles 
Evocat antistes Babylonius, atque ita fatur : 
" Finibus occiduis circumfusum incolit lequor 
Gens exosa mihi ; prudens Natura negavit 
Indignam penitus nostro conjungere mundo. 
Illuc, sic jubeo, celeri contendite gressu, 160 

Tartareoque leves diiflentur pulvere in auras 
Et rex et pariter satrapas, scelerata propago ; 
Et quotquot fidei caluere cupidine verae 
Consilii socios adhibete, operisque ministros." 
Finierat : rigidi cupide paruere gemelli. 

Interea longo flectens curvamine caelos 
Despicit aetherea Dominus qui fulgurat arce, 
Vanaque perversa ridet conamina turbas, 
Atque sui causam populi volet ipse tueri. 

Esse ferunt spatium, qua distat ab Aside terra 170 

Fertilis Europe, et spectat Mareotidas undas; 



598 LATIN POEMS: SYLV^E. 



Hie turris posita est Titanidos ardua Famae, 

/Erea, lata, sonans, rutilis vicinior astris 

Quam superimpositum vel Athos vel Pelion Ossas. 

Mille fores aditusque patent, totidemqne fenestrae, 

Amplaque per tenues translucent atria muros. 

Excitat hie varies plebs agglomerata susurros ; 

Qualiter instrepitant circum muletralia bombis 

Agmina musearum, aiit texto per ovilia junco, 

Dum Canis aestivum caeli petit ardua eulmen. i8o 

Ipsa quidem summa sedet ultrix matris in arce : 

Auribus innumeris cinctum eaput eminet olli, 

Queis sonitum exiguum trahit, atque levissima eaptat 

Murmura, ab extremis patuli confinibus orbis ; 

Nee tot, Aristoride, servator inique juveneae 

Isidos, immiti volvebas lumina vultu, 

Lumina non unquam tacito nutantia somno, 

Lumina subjeetas late spectantia terras. 

Istis ilia solet loea luee earentia saepe 

Perlustrare, etiam radianti impervia soli; 190 

Millenisque loquax auditaque visaque linguis 

Cuilibet efifundit temeraria ; veraque mendax 

Nune minuit, modo eonfictis sermonibus auget. 

Sed tamen a nostro meruisti carmine laudes, 

Fama, bonum quo non aliud veracius ullum, 

Nobis digna cani, nee te memorasse pigebit 

Carmine tarn longo ; servati scilicet Angli 

Offieiis, vaga diva, tuis tibi reddimus asqua. 

Te Deus, aeternos motu qui temperat ignes, 

Fulmine praemisso, alloquitur, terraque tremente : 200 

" Fama, siles ? an te latet impia Papistarum 

Conjurata cohors in meque meosque Britannos, 

Et nova sceptrigero caedes meditata lacobo?^' 

Nee plura : ilia statim sensit mandata Tonantis, 

Et, satis ante fugax, stridentes induit alas, 

Induit et variis exilia corpora plumis ; 

Dextra tubam gestat Temesaeo ex aere sonoram. 

Nee mora ; jam pennis cedentes remigat auras, 

Atque parum est cursu celeres praevertere nubes ; 

Jam ventos, jam solis equos, post terga reliquit : 210 

Et primo Angliacas, solito de more, per urbes 

Ambiguas voces incertaque murmura spargit ; 

Mox arguta dolos et detestabile vulgat 

Proditionis opus, nee non facta horrida dietu, 

Authoresque addit sceleris, nee garrula caecis 

Insidiis loea structa silet. Stupuere relatis, 

Et pariter juvenes, pariter tremuere puellae, 

Effoetique senes pariter, tantaeque ruinae 



IN OBITUM PR^SULIS ELIENSIS. 599 



Sensus ad aetatem subito penetraverat omnem. 

Attamen interea populi miserescit ab alto 220 

^thereus Pater, et cmdelibus obstitit ausis 

Papicolum. Capti poenas raptantur ad acres : 

At pia thura Deo et grati solvuntur honores ; 

Compita l^eta focis genialibus omnia fumant ; 

Turba choros juvenilis agit ; Ouintoque Novembris 

Nulla dies toto occurrit celebratior anno. 



Anno cetatis 17. 
IN OBITUM PR^SULIS ELIENSIS. 

Adhuc madentes rore squalebant gen?e, 

Et sicca nondum lumina 
Adhuc liquentis imbre turgebant salis 

Quern nuper effudi plus 
Dum moesta charo justa persolvi rogo 

Wintoniensis Praesulis, 
Cum centilinguis Fama (proh ! semper mall 

Cladisque vera nuntia) 
Spargit per urbes divitis Britanniae, 

Populosque Neptuno satos, 10 

Cessisse Morti et ferreis Sororibus, 

Te, generis humani decus, 
Qui rex sacrorum ilia fuisti in insula 

QucC nomen Anguillaj tenet. 
Tunc inquietum pectus ira protiniis 

Ebulliebat fervida, 
Tumulis potentem scepe devovens deam : 

Nee vota Naso in Ibida 
Concepit alto diriora pectore ; 

Graiusque vates parcius 20 

Turpem Lycambis execratus est dolum, 

Sponsamque Neobulen suam. 
At ecce ! diras ipse dum fundo graves, 

Et imprecor Neci necem, 
Audisse tales videor attonitus sonos 

Leni, sub aura, flamine : 
" Caecos furores pone ; pone vitream 

Bilemque et irritas minas. 
Quid temere violas non nocenda numina, 

Subitoque ad iras percita? 30 

Non est, ut arbitraris elusus miser, 

Mors atra Noctis filia, 



600 LATIN POEMS: SYLV^. 



Erebove patre creta, sive Erinnye, 

Vastove nata sub Chao : 
Ast ilia, caelo missa stellate, Dei 

Messes ubique colligit ; 
Animasque mole carnea reconditas 

In lucem et auras evocat, 
(Ut cum fugaces excitant Horre diem, 

Themidos Jovisque fili^,) 4° 

Et sempiterni ducit ad vultus Patris, 

At justa raptat impios 
Sub regna furvi luctuosa Taitari 

Sedesque subterraneas. 
Hanc ut vocantem lastus audivi, cito 

Foedum reliqui carcerem, 
Volatilesque faustus inter milites 

Ad astra sublimis feror, 
Vates ut olim raptus ad ceelum senex, 

Auriga currus ignei. 5° \ 

Non me Bootis terruere lucidi \ 

Sarraca tarda frigore, aut | 

Formidolosi Scorpionis brachia ; \ 

Non ensis, Orion, tuus. 
Praetervolavi fulgidi solis globum ; ^ 

Longeque sub pedibus deam 
Vidi triformem, dum coercebat suos 

Fraenis dracones aureis. 
Erraticorum siderum per ordines, 

Per lacteas vehor plagas, 6o 

Velocitatem snspe miratus novam, 

Donee nitentes ad fores 
Ventum est Olympi, et regiam crystallinam, et 

Stratum smaragdis atrium. 
Sed hie tacebo, nam quis effari queat 

Oriundus humano patre 
Amoenitates illius loci? Mihi 

Sat est in leternum frui." 



NATURAM NON PATI SENIUM. 

Heu ! qukm perpetuis erroribus acta fatiscit 

Avia mens hominum, tenebrisque immersa profundis 

(Edipodioniam volvit sub pectore noctem! 

Quae vesana suis metiri facta deorum 

Audet, et incisas leges adamante perenni 

Assimilare suis, nulloque solubile sa;clo 

Consilium Fati perituris alligat horis. 



r 



Ergone marcescet sulcantibus obsita riigis 
Naturae facies, et rerum publica Mater, 

Omniparum contracta uterum, sterilescet ab aevo? lo 

Et, se fassa senem, male certis passibus ibit 
Sidereum tremebunda caput? Num tetra vetustas 
Annorumque aeterna fames, squalorque situsque, 
Sidera vexabunt? An et insatiabile Tempus 
Esuriet Caelum, rapietque in viscera patrem? 
Heu ! potuitne suas imprudens Jupiter arces 
Hoc contra munisse netas, et Temporis isto 
Exemisse malo, gyrosque dedisse perennes? 
Ergo erit ut quandoque, sono dilapsa tremendo, 
Convex! tabulata ruant, atque obvius ictu 20 

Stridat uterque polus, superaque ut Olympius aula 
Decidat, horribilisque retecta Gorgone Pallas ; 
Qualis in ^gaeam proles Junonia Lemnon 
Deturbata sacro cecidit de limine ceeli. 
Tu quoque, Phoebe, tui casus imitabere nati 
Praecipiti curru, subitaque ferere ruina 
Pronus, et extincta fumabit lampade Nereus, 
Et dabit attonito feralia sibila ponto. 
Tunc etiam aerei divulsis sedibus Haemi 

Dissultabit apex, imoque allisa barathro 30 

Terrebunt Stygium dejecta Ceraunia Ditem, 
In superos quibus usus erat, fraternaque bella. 

At pater Omnipotens, fundatis fortius astris, 
Consuluit rerum summae, certoque peregit 
Pondere Fatorum lances, atque ordine summo 
Singula perpetuum jussit servare tenorem. 
Volvitur hinc lapsu Mundi rota prima diurno, 
Raptat et ambitos socia vertigine caelos. 
Tardior baud solito Saturnus, et acer ut olim 
Fulmineiim rutilat cristata casside Mavors. 40 

Floridus aeterniim Phoebus juvenile comscat, 
Nee fovet effoetas loca per declivia terras 
Devexo temone Deus ; sed semper, amica 
Luce potens, eadem currit per signa rotarum. 
Surgit odoratis pariter formosus ab Indis 
-^thereum pecus albenti qui cogit Olympo, 
Man^ vocans, et serus agens in pascua caeli ; 
Temporis et gemino dispertit regna colore. 
Fulget, obitque vices alterno Delia cornu, 

Caeruleumque ignem paribus complectitur ulnis. 50 

Nee variant elementa fidem, solitoque fragore 
Lurida perculsas jaculantur fulmina rupes. 
Nee per inane furit leviori murmure Corns ; 
Stringit et armiferos aequali horrore Gelonos 



Trux Aquilo, spiratque hiemem, nimbosque volutat. 

Utque solet, Siculi diverberat ima Pelori 

Rex maris, et rauca circumstrepit aequora concha 

Oceani Tubicen, nee vasta mole minorem 

yEgaeona ferunt dorso Balearica cete. 

Sed neque, Terra, tibi saecli vigor ille vetusti 60 

Priscus abest ; servatque suum Narcissus odorem ; 

Et puer ille suum tenet, et puer ille, decorem, 

Phoebe, tuusque, et, Cypri, tuus ; nee ditior olim 

Terra datum sceleri celavit montibus aurum 

Conscia, vel sub aquis gemmas. Sic denique in aevum 

I bit cunctarum series justissima rerum ; 

Donee flamma orbem populabitur ultima, late 

Circumplexa polos et vasti culmina caeli, 

Ingentique rogo flagrabit machina Mundi. 



DE IDEA PLATONICA QUEMADMODUM ARISTOTELES INTELLEXIT. 

DiciTE, sacrorum praesides nemorum deae. 
Tuque O noveni perbeata numinis 
Memoria mater, qu^eque in immenso procul 
Antro recumbis otiosa ^ternitas, 
Monumenta servans, et ratas leges Jovis, 
Caelique fastos atque ephemeridas Deum, 
Quis ille primus cujus ex imagine 
Natura solers finxit humanum genus, 
i^ternus, incorruptus, aequaevus polo, 
Unusque et universus, exemplar Dei? 
Hand ille, Palladis gemellus innubae, 
Interna proles insidet menti Jovis; 
Sed, quamlibet natura sit communior, 
Tamen seorsus extat ad morem unius, 
Et, mira ! certo stringitur spatio loci : 
Sen sempiternus ille siderum comes 
Caeli pererrat ordines decemplicis, 
Citimumve terris incolit Lun^e globum ; 
Sive, inter animas corpus adituras sedens, 
Obliviosas torpet ad Lethes aquas ; 
Sive in remota forte terrarum plaga 
Incedit ingens hominis archetypus gigas, 
Et diis tremendus erigit celsum caput, 
Atlante major portitore siderum. 
Non, cui profundum caecitas lumen dedit, 
Dircaeus augur vidit hunc alto sinu ; 



AD PATREM. 603 



Non hunc silenti nocte Pleiones nepos 

Vatum sagaci praepes ostendit choro ; 

Non hunc sacerdos novit Assyrius, licet 

Longos vetusti commemoret atavos Nini, 30 

Priscumque Belon, inclytumque Osiridem ; 

Non ille trino gloriosus nomine 

Ter magnus Hermes (ut sit arcani sciens) 

Talem reliquit Isidis cultoribus. 

At tu, perenne ruris Academi decus, 

(Haec monstra si tu primus induxti scholis) 

Jam jam poetas, urbis exules tuae, 

Revocabis, ipse Tabulator maximus ; 

Aut institutor ipse migrabis foras. 



AD PATREM. 

Nunc mea Pierios cupiam per pectora fontes 

Irriguas torquere vias, totumque per ora 

Volvere laxatum gemino de vertice rivum ; 

Ut, tenues oblita sonos, audacibus alls 

Surgat in officium venerandi Musa parentis. 

Hoc utcunque tibi gratum, pater optime, carmen 

Exigimm meditatur opus ; nee novimus ipsi 

Aptius a nobis quae possint munera donis 

Respondere tuis, quamvis nee maxima possint 

Respondere tuis, nedum ut par gratia donis 10 

Esse queat vacuis quae redditur arida verbis. 

Sed tamen haec nostros ostendit pagina census, 

Et quod habemus opum charta numeravimus ista, 

Quae mihi sunt nullae, nisi quas dedit aurea Clio, 

Quas mihi semoto somni peperere sub antro, 

Et nemoris laureta sacri, Parnassides umbrae. 

Nee tu, vatis opus, divinum despice carmen, 
Quo nihil aethereos ortus et semina cacli, 
Nil magis humanam commendat origine mentem, 
Sancta Prometheae retinens vestigia Hammae. 20 

Carmen amant Superi, tremebundaque Tartara carmen 
Ima ciere valet, divosque ligare profundos, 
Et triplici duros Manes ademante coercet. 
Carmine sepositi retegunt arcana futuri 
Phoebades, et tremul^ pallentes ora Sibyllae ; 
Carmina sacrificus sollennes pangit ad aras, 
Aurea seu sternit motantem cornua taurum, 
Seu cum fata sagax fumantibus abdita fibris 
Consulit, et tepidis Parcam scrutatur in extis. 



6o4 LATIN POEMS: SYLV^E. 



Nos etiam, patrium tunc cum repetemus Olympum, 30 

^ternaeque moras stabunt immobilis aevi, 

Ibimus auratis per caeli templa coronis, 

Dulcia suaviloquo sociantes carmina plectro, 

Astra quibus geminique poli convexa sonabunt. 

Spiritus et rapidos qui circinat igneus orbes 

Nunc quoque sidereis intercinit ipse choreis 

Immortale melos et inenarrabile carmen, 

Torrida dum rutilus compescit sibila Serpens, 

Demissoque ferox gladio mansuescit Orion, 

Stellarum nee sentit onus Maurusius Atlas. 40 

Carmina regales epulas ornare solebant, 

Cum nondum luxus, vastaeque immensa vorago 

Nota gulae, et modico spumabat coena Lyaeo. 

Tum de more sedens festa ad convivia vates, 

y^sculea intonsos redimitus ab arbore crines, 

Heroumque actus imitandaque gesta canebat, 

Et Chaos, et positi late fundamina Mundi, 

Reptantesque deos, et alentes numina glandes, 

Et nondum ^tnaeo quaesitum fulmen ab antro. 

Denique quid vocis modulamen inane juvabit, 50 

Verborum sensusque vacans, numerique loquacis? 

Silvestres decet iste choros, non Orphea, cantus, 

Qui tenuit fluvios, et quercubus addidit aures, 

Carmine, non cithara, simulacraque functa canendo 

Compulit in lacrymas : habet has a carmine laudes. 

Nee tu perge, precor, sacras contemnere Musas, 
Nee vanas inopesque puta, quarum ipse peritus 
Munere mille sonos numeros componis ad aptos, 
Millibus et vocem modulis variare canoram 
Doctos Arionii merito sis nominis haeres. 60 

Nunc tibi quid mirum si me genuisse poetam 
Contigerit, charo si tam prope sanguine juncti 
Cognatas artes studiumque affine sequamur? 
Ipse volens Phoebus se dispertire duobus, 
Altera dona mihi, dedit altera dona parenti ; 
Dividuumque Ueum, genitorque puerque, tenemus. 

Tu tamen ut simules teneras odisse Camoenas, 
Non odisse reor. Neque enim, pater, ire jubebas 
Qua via lata patet, qua pronior area lucri, 

Certaque condendi fulget spes aurea nummi ; 70 

Nee rapis ad leges, male custoditaque gentis 
Jura, nee insulsis damnas clamoribus aures. 
Sed, magis excultam cupiens ditescere mentem, 
Me, procul urbano strepitu, secessibus altis 
Abductum, Aoniae jucunda per otia ripae, 
Phoebaso lateri comitem sinis ire beatum. 



AD PATREM. 605 



Officium chari taceo commune parentis; 
Me poscunt majora. Tuo, pater optime, sumptu 
Cum mihi Romuleae patuit facundia lingua, 
Et Latii veneres, et quae Jovis ora decebant 80 

Grandia magniloquis elata vocabula Graiis, 
Addere suasisti quos jactat Gallia flores, 
Et quam degeneri novus I talus ore loquelam 
Fundit, barbaricos testatus voce tumultus, 
Quseque Palaestinus loquitur m3'steria vates. 
Denique quicquid habet caelum, subjectaque ca^lo 
Terra parens, terraeque et caelo interfluus aer, 
Quicquid et unda tegit, pontique agitabile marmor, 
Per te nosse licet, per te, si nosse libebit ; 
'Dimotaque venit spectanda Scientia nube, 9° 

Nudaque conspicuos inclinat ad oscula vultus, 
Ni fugisse velim, ni sit libasse molestum. 

I nunc, confer opes, quisquis malesanus avitas 

Austriaci gazas Periianaque regna pra^optas. 

QucE potuit majora pater tribuisse, vel ipse 

Jupiter, excepto, donasset ut omnia, ca^lo? 

Non potiora dedit, quamvis et tuta fuissent, 

Publica qui juveni commisit lumina nato, 

Atque Hyperionios currus, et fraena diei, 

Et circum undantem radiata luce tiaram. 100 

Ergo ego, jam doctae pars quamlibet una catervae, 

Victrices hederas inter laurosque sedebo ; 

Jamque nee obscurus populo miscebor merti, 

Vitabuntque oculos vestigia nostra profanos. 

Este procul vigiles Curas, procul este Querelas, 

Invidi^que acies transverso tortilis hirquo ; 

Saeva nee anguiferos extende, Calumma, rictus ; 

In me triste nihil, foedissima turba, potestis. 

Nee vestri sum juris ego; securaque tutus 

Pectora vipereo gradiar sublimis ab ictu. 

At tibi, chare pater, postquam non aequa mcrenti 

Posse referre datur, nee dona rependere factis. 

Sit memorasse satis, repetitaque munera grato 

Percensere animo, fidaeque reponere menti. 
Et vos, O nostri, juvenilia carmina, lusus, 

Si modo perpetuos sperare audebitis annos, 

Et domini superesse rogo, lucemque Uieri, 
Nee spisso rapient oblivia nigra sub Orco,_ 
Forsitan has laudes, decantatumque parentis 
Nomen, ad exemplum, sero servabitis aevo. 



6o6 LATIN POEMS: SYLV^. 



PSALM CXIV. 

'lcrpar}\ ore TratSes, or dy\aa ^d\ 'IaKd}j3ov 
AlyinrTiov XItts dyj/uLOf, direxd^a, ^ap^apo^ivpov, 
Ar? rdre fiovvov €7]v 6(Tlou yipos vies 'lovda- 
'Ev d^ Beds Xaolai jx^ya KpeLwp jSacriXevep. 
EtSe Kal ipTpoTrddrjP (pvyad' eppijTjae ddXaaaa, 
KvfiaTL elXvfxepr] podiu), 6 5' &p' ea-rv^eXixdv 
'Ipbs 'lopddprjs ttotI dpyvpoeidea Trrjy/jp ' 

Ek 5 opea aKapdfxoTffip direipeaLa kXop^opto, 
'Qs KpLol <T(ppLy6(i}PT€S evTpacpepif) ep dXcjy • 
^aidrepai d dfia iracraL dvaaKipTrjaap ipiTTPai, 
Ota irapal avptyyt. (piXrj virb /mrjr^pi dppes. 
TtTTxe <Tvy , aiVd ddXaaaa., TriXwp (pvyad' ipl>d)y]aas 
KvfxaTL elXvfx^pT] po6icp; tL 5' dp eaTV(peXix6v^ 
'Ipbs 'lopddPT] ttotI dpyvpoeid^a irrjyqv ; 
TIttt opea aKapdfioTcnp direLp^aia KXop^eade, 
'fts Kpiol acppiydcoPTes evr pacpept^i ip dXojrj ; 
^aiSrepai rl S dp v/n/xes dpacKLpTrjaaT iplirpai, 
Ola Trapal (TvpiyyL (piXy virb /jltjt^pl dppes ; 
Se^eo ya7a rpiovcra Qebp fxeydX eKTVir^oPTa, 
Taia Qebp rpelova virarop ai^as 'laaaKldao, 

Os re Kal iK (nriXddojp TroTajxoifS %^e fj-op/xvpopras, 
KprjPTjp T dhaov Trirprjs dirb baKpvo^crarjs. 

Philosophiis ad Regem qiiendam, qui eum ignotuni et inso7item 
inter reos forte caption inscius damnaverat^ ttjp iirl dapdri^ 
wopev6/j.epos hcBC suMto ?nisit. 

*12 dpa^ el oXicrrjs p-e rbp eppofxop, ovS^ tip dpSpQv 
Aeipop 6Xa>s bpdcxapra^ aocpuirarop ladi Kdpiqpov 
'PtjI'S^ws d(p^Xoio, rb 5' varepop addi porjacLS, 
Mai/'iSiws 5' dp cTreira rebp Trpbs dvpJbp ddvpy, 
ToLbpd' €K irbXios irepubwixop dXKap dX^craas. 



In effigiei ejus sadptorem. 

Afiadei yeypd(pOaL x^'-P^ T'qpSe p.kp eUbpa 
^aiyjs rdx dp, irpbs e/Sos aiirocpv^s /SX^ttwj/. 
Ibp 8' eKTVircoThp ovk iiriypopTes, (piXoi, 
TeXdre (pavXov 8v(Tfxi/x7}iJ.a ^ooypdcpov. 



AD SALSILLUM. 607 



AD SALSILLUM, POETAM ROMANUM, yEGROTANTEM. SCAZONTES. 

O MusA gressimi quae volens trahis claudum, 
Vulcanioque tarda gaudes incessu, 
Nee sentis illiid in loco minus gratum 
Quam cum decentes flava Deiope suras 
Alternat aureum ante Junonis lectum, 
Adesdum, et haec s'is verba pauca Salsillo 
Refer, Camoena nostra cui tantum est cordi, 
Ouamque ille magnis prastulit immerito divis. 
Haec ergo alumnus ille Londini Milto, 
Diebus hisce qui suum linquens nidum 10 

Polique tractum (pessimus ubi ventonmi, 
Insanientis impotensque pulmonis, 
Pernix anhela sub Jove exercet flabra) 
Venit feraces I tali soli ad glebas. 
Visum superba cognitas urbes fama, 
Virosque, doctaeque indolem juventutis, 
Tibi optat idem hie fausta multa, Salsille, 
Habitumque fesso corpori penitus sanum ; 
Cui nunc profunda bills infestat renes, 
Praecordiisque fixa damnosum spirat ; 20 

Nee id pepercit impia quod tu Romano 
Tam cultus ore Lesbium condis melos. 
O dulce divum munus, O Salus, Hebes 
Germana ! Tuque, Phoebe ! morborum terror, 
Pythone caeso, sive tu magis Pa;an 
Libenter audis, hie tuus saeerdos est. 
Quereeta Fauni, vosque rore vinoso 
Colles benigni, mitis Evandri sedes, 
Siquid salubre vallibus frondet vestris, 
Levamen aegro ferte certatim vati. 30 

Sic ille charis redditus mrsum Musis 
Vicina dulei prata mulcebit cantu. 
Ipse inter atros emirabitur lucos 
Numa, ubi beatum degit otium aeternum, 
Suam reclivis semper ^geriam speetans ; 
Tumidusque et ipse Tibris, hinc delinitus, 
Spei favebit annuae colononmi ; 
Nee in sepulehris ibit obsessum reges, 
Nimium sinistro laxus irruens loro ; 

Sed fraena melius temperabit undanmi, 40 

- Adusque curvi salsa regna Portumni. 



6o8 LATIN POEMS t SVLV^. 



MANSUS. 

Joannes Baptista Mansus, Marchio Villensis, vir ingenii laude, turn literarum studio, nee non 
et bellica virtute, apud Italos clarus in primis est. Ad quern Torquati Tassi Dialogus 
extat de Amicitia sciiptus; erat enim Tassi amicissimus: ab quo etiam inter Campanise 
principes celebiatur, in illo poemate cui titulus Gerusalemme Conquistata, lib. 20. 

Fra cavalier magnanimi e cortesi 
Risplende il Manso .... 

Is authorem, Neapoli commorantem, summa benevolentia prosecutus est, multaque ei detulit 
humanitatis officia. Ad hunc itaque hospes ille, antequam ab ea urbe discederet, ut ne 
ingratum se ostenderet, hoc carmen misit. 

H^C quoque, Manse, tuae meditantur carmina laudi 
Pierides ; tibi, Manse, choro notissime Phoebi, 
Quandoqiiidem ille alium hand asquo est dignatus honore, 
Post Gain cineres, et Mecaenatis Hetmsci. 
Tu quoque, si nostrae tantum valet aura Camoenae, 
Victrices hederas inter laurosque sedebis. 

Te pridem magno felix concordia Tasso 
Junxit, et ^ternis inscripsit nomina chartis. 
Mox tibi dulciloquum non inscia Musa Marinum 
Tradidit ; ille tuum dici se gaudet alumnum, 10 

Dum canit Assyrios divum prolixus amores, 
Mollis et Ausonias stupefecit carmine nymphas. 
Ille itidem moriens tibi soli debita vates 
Ossa, tibi soli, supremaque vota reliquit : 
Nee Manes pietas tua chara fefellit amici ; 
Vidimus arridentem operoso ex aere poetam. 
Nee satis hoc visum est in utrumque, et nee pia cessant 
Officia in tumulo ; cupis integros rapere Oreo, 
Qua potes, atque avidas Parcarum eludere leges : 
Amborum genus, et varia sub sorte peractam 20 

Describis vitam, moresque, et dona Minervas ; 
^mulus illius Mycalen qui natus ad altam 
Rettulit ^olii vitam facundus Homeri. 
Ergo ego te, Clius et magni nomine Phoebi, 
Manse pater, jubeo longum salvere per aevum, 
Missus Hyperboreo juvenis peregrinus ab axe. 
Nee tu longinquam bonus aspernabere Musam, 
Quce nuper, gelida vix enutrita sub Arcto, 
Imprudens Italas ansa est volitare per urbes. 
Nos etiam in nostro modulantes flumine cygnos 30 

Credimus obscuras noctis sensisse per umbras, 
Qua Thamesis late puris argenteus urnis 
Oceani glaucos perfundit gurgite crines ; 
Quin et in has quondam pervenit Tityrus eras. 



MANSUS. 609 



Sed neque nos genus incultum, nee inutile Phoebo, 
Qua plaga septeno mundi sulcata Trione 
Brumalem patitur longa sub nocte Booten. 
Nos etiam colimus Phoebum, nos munera Phoebo, 
Flaventes spicas, et lutea mala canistris, 

Halantemque crocum (perhibet nisi vana vetustas) 40 

Misimus, et lectas Dmidum de gente choreas. 
(Gens Druides antiqua, sacris operata deorum, 
Heroum laudes imitandaque gesta canebant.) 
Hinc quoties festo cingunt altaria cantu 
Delo in herbosa Graias de more puellse, 
Carminibus Isetis memorant Corineida Loxo, 
Fatidicamque Upin, cum flavicoma Hecaerge, 
Nuda Caledonio variatas pectora fuco. 

Fortunate senex ! ergo quacunque per orbem 
Torquati decus et nomen celebrabitur ingens, 50 

Claraque perpetui succrescet fama Marini, 
Tu quoque in ora frequens venies plausumque virorum, 
Et parili carpes iter immortale volatu. 
Dicetur turn sponte tuos habitasse penates 
Cynthius, et famulas venisse ad limina Musas. 
At non sponte donium tamen idem et regis adivit 
Rura Pheretiadae caelo fugitivus Apollo, 
Ille licet magnum Alciden susceperat hospes ; 
Tantum, ubi clamosos placuit vitare bubulcos, 
Nobile mansueti cessit Chironis in antrum, 60 

Irriguos inter saltus frondosaque tecta, 
Peneium prope rivum : ibi saepe sub ilice nigra, 
Ad citharas strepitum, blanda prece victus amici, 
Exilii duros lenibat voce labores. 
Tum neque ripa suo, barathro nee fixa sub imo 
Saxa stetere loco ; nutat Trachinia iiipes, 
Nee sentit solitas, immania pondera, silvas ; 
Emotaeque suis properant de collibus orni, 
Mulcenturque novo maculosi carmine lynces. 

Diis dilecte senex! te Jupiter aequus oportel 70 

Nascentem et miti lustrarit lumine Phoebus, 
Atlantisque nepos ; neque enim nisi charus ab ortu 
Diis superis poterit magno favisse poetae. 
Hine longasva tibi lento sub flore senectus 
Vernat, et ^sonios lucratur vivida fusos, 
Nondum deciduos servans tibi frontis honores, 
Ingeniumque vigens, et adultum mentis acumen. 
O mihi si mea sors talem concedat amicum, 
Phoebaeos decorasse viros qui tam bene norit, 
Siquando indigenas revocabo in carmina reges, 80 

Artunmique etiam sub terris beUa moventem, 



6io LATIN POEMS: SYLV^. 



Aut dicam invictae sociali foedere mens^ 

Magnanimos Heroas, et (O modo spiritus adsit) 

Frangam Saxonicas Britoniim sub Marte phalanges ! 

Tandem, ubi, non tacitae permensus tempora vitae, 

Annommque satur, cineri sua jura relinquam, 

Ille mihi lecto madidis astaret ocellis ; 

Astanti sat erit si dicam, ' Sim tibi curae ' ; 

Ille meos artus, liventi morte solutos, 

Curaret parva componi molliter urna : 90 

Forsitan et nostros ducat de marmore vultus, 

Nectens aut Paphia myrti aut Parnasside lauri 

Fronde comas; et ego secura pace quiescam. 

Tum quoque, si qua fides, si praemia certa bonorum, 

Ipse ego, caelicolum semotus in aethera divum, 

Quo labor et mens pura vehunt atque ignea virtus, 

Secret! haec aliqua mundi de parte videbo 

(Quantum fata sinunt), et tota mente serenum 

Ridens purpureo sufifundar lumine vultus, 

Et simul aethereo plaudam mihi laetus Olympo. 100 



EPITAPHIUM DAMONIS. 

ARGUMENTUM. 

Thyrsis et Damon, ejusdem vicinise pastores, eadem studia sequuti, a pueritia amici erant, 
ut qui plurimum. Thyrsis, animi causa profectus, peregre de obitu Damonis nuncium 
accepit. Domum postea reversus, et rem ita esse comperto, se suamque solitudinem hoc 
carmine deplorat. Damonis autem subpersonS h\c intelligitur Carolus Deodatus, ex 
urbe Hetrurise Luca paterno genere oriundus, caetera Anglus; ingeiiio, doctrina, clarissi- 
misque caeteris Yirtutibus, dum viveret, juvenis egregius. 

HiMERiDES Nymphae (nam vos et Daphnin et Hylan, 

Et plorata diu meministis fata Bionis), 

Dicite Sicelicum Thamesina per oppida carmen : 

Quas miser effudit voces, quae murmura Thyrsis, 

Et quibus assiduis exercuit antra querelis, 

Fluminaque, fontesque vagos, nemorumque recessus, 

Dum sibi praereptum queritur Damona, neque altam 

Luctibus exemit noctem, loca sola pererrans. 

Et jam bis viridi surgebat culmus arista, 

Et totidem flavas numerabant horrea messes, 10 

Ex quo summa dies tulerat Damona sub umbras. 

Nee dum aderat Thyrsis ; pastorem scilicet ilium 

Dulcis amor Musas Thusca retinebat in urbe. 

Ast ubi mens expleta domum pecorisque relicti 



EPITAPHIUM DAMONIS. 6ii 



Ciira vocat, simul assueta sedique sub ulmo, 
Turn vero amissum, turn denique, sentit amicum, 
Coepit et immensum sic exonerare dolorem : — 

" Ite domum impasti ; domino jam non vacat, agni. 
Hei mihi ! quae terris, quse dicam numina caelo, 
Postquam te immiti rapiierunt funere, Damon? 20 

Siccine nos linquis? tua sic sine nomine virtus 
Ibit, et obscuris numero sociabitur umbris? 
At non ille animas virga qui dividit aurea 
Ista velit, dignumque tui te ducat in agmen, 
Ignavumque procul pecus arceat omne silentiim. 

'' Ite domum impasti ; domino jam non vacat, agni. 
Quicquid erit, certe, nisi me lupus ante videbit, 
Indeplorato non comminuere sepulchro, 
Constabitque tuus tibi honos, longumque vigebit 
Inter pastores. Illi tibi vota secundo 30 

Solvere post Daphnin, post Daphnin dicere laudes, 
Gaudebunt, dum rura Pales, dum Faunus amabit ; 
Si quid id est, priscamque fidem coluisse, piumque, 
Palladiasque artes, sociumque habuisse canorum. 

"Ite domum impasti; domino jam non vacat, agni. 
Haec tibi certa manent, tibi emnt haec praemia, Damon. 
At mihi quid tandem fiet modo ? quis mihi fidus 
Haerebit lateri comes, ut tu saepe solebas, 
Frigoribus duris, et per loca foeta pruinis, 

Aut rapido sub sole, siti morientibus herbis, 40 

Sive opus in magnos fuit eminus ire leones, 
Aut avidos terrere lupos praesepibus altis? 
Quis fando sopire diem cantuque solebit? 

" Ite domum impasti ; domino jam non vacat, agni. 
Pectora cui credam? quis me lenire docebit 
Mordaces curas, quis longam fallere noctem 
Dulcibus alloquiis, grato cum sibilat igni 
Molle pirmii, et nucibus strepitat focus, at malus Auster 
Miscet cuncta foris, et desuper intonat ulmo.'' 

"Ite domum impasti; domino jam non vacat, agni. 50 

Aut aestate, dies medio dum vertitur axe. 
Cum Pan assculea somnum capit abditus umbra, 
Et repetunt sub aquis sibi nota sedilia Nymphas, 
Pastoresque latent, stertit sub sepe colonus, 
Quis mihi blanditiasque tuas, quis turn mihi risus, 
Cecropiosque sales referet, cultosque lepores? 

" Ite domum impasti ; domino jam non vacat, agni. 
At jam solus agros, jam pascua solus oberro, 
Sicubi ramosae densantur vallibus umbras; 
Hie serum expecto ; supra caput imber et Eurus 60 

Triste sonant, fractccque agitata crepuscula silvas. 



6i: 



LATIN POEMS; SVLV^. 



70 



80 



"Ite domum impasti ; domino jam non vacat, agni. 
Heu ! quam culta mihi prius arva procacibus herbis 
Involvuntur, et ipsa situ seges alta fatiscit ! 
Innuba neglecto marcescit et uva racemo, 
Nee myrteta juvant ; ovium quoque tsedet, at illae 
Mcerent, inque suum convertunt ora magistrum. 

'' Ite domum impasti ; domino jam non vacat, agni. 
Tityrus ad corylos vocat, Alphesiboeus ad ornos, 
Ad salices ^gon, ad flumina pulcher Amyntas : 
' Hie gelidi fontes, hie illita gramina museo, 
Hie Zephyri, hie plaeidas interstrepit arbutus undas.' 
Ista canunt surdo ; fmtices ego nactus abibam. 

"Ite domum impasti; domino jaiy non vacat, agni. 
Mopsus ad h:Ee, nam me redeuntem forte notarat 
(Et callebat avium linguas et sidera Mopsus), 
'Thyrsi, quid hoc?' dixit; 'quae te eoquit improbabilis ? 
Aut te perdit amor, aut te mal5 faseinat astrum ; 
Saturni grave snepe fuit pastoribus astrum, 
Intimaque obliquo figit prjecordia pkmibo.' 

"• Ite domum impasti ; domino jam non vacat, agni. 
Mirantur nymphae, et 'Quid te, Thyrsi, futurum est? 
Quid tibi vis ? ' aiunt : ' non haec solet esse juventae 
Nubila frons, oculique truces, vultusque severi : 
Ilia choros, lususque leves, et semper amorem 
Jure petit; bis ille miser qui serus amavit.' 

" Ite domum impasti ; domino jam non vacat, agni. 
Venit Hyas, Dryopeque, et filia Baucidis ^Egle, 
Doeta modos, citharaeque sciens, sed perdita fastu ; 
Venit Idumanii Chloris vicina fluenti : 
Nil me blanditiae, nil me solantia verba, 
Nil me si quid adest movet, aut spes ulla futuri. 

" Ite domum impasti ; domino jam non vacat, agni. 
■ Hei mihi ! quam similes ludunt per prata juvenci, 
Omnes unanimi secum sibi lege sodales ! 
Nee magis hunc alio quisquam secernit amicum 
De grege ; sic densi veniunt ad pabula thoes, 
Inque vicem hirsuti paribus junguntur onagri: 
Lex eadem pelagi ; deserto in littore Proteus 
Agmina phocarum numerat : vilisque volucrum 
Passer habet semper quieum sit, et omnia circum 
Farra libens volitet, sero sua tecta revisens ; 
Quem si sors letho objecit, seu milvus adunco 
Fata tulit rostro, seu stravit arundine fossor, 
Protinus ille alium socio petit inde volatu. 
Nos durum genus, et diris exercita fatis 
Gens, homines, aliena animis, et pectore discors ; 
Vix sibi quisque parem de milibus invenit unum; 



90 



[GO 



EPITAPHIUM DAMON IS. 613 

Aut, si sors dederit -tandem non aspera votis, 

Ilium inopina dies, qua non speraveris hora, no 

Surripit, aeternum linquens in saecula damnum. 

"Ite domum impasti ; domino jam non vacat, agni. 
Heu ! quis me ignotas traxit vagus error in oras 
Ire per aereas rupes, Alpemque nivosam? 
Ecquid erat tanti Romam vidisse sepultam 
(Quamvis ilia foret, qualem dum viseret olim 
Tityms ipse slias et oves et rura reliquit), 
Ut te tam dulci possem caruisse sodale, 
Possem tot maria alta, tot interponere montes, 
Tot silvas, tot saxa tibi, fluviosque sonantes? 120 

Ah ! certe extremum licuisset tangere dextram, 
Et bene composites placide morientis ocellos, 
Et dixisse '^Vale ! nostri memor ibis ad astra/ 

" Ite domum impasti ; domino jam non vacat, agni. 
Quamquam etiam vestri nunquam meminisse pigebit, 
Pastores Thusci, Musis operata juventus, 
Hie Charis, atque Lepos ; et Thuscus tu quoque Damon, 
Antiqua genus unde petis Lucumonis ab urbe. 
O ego quantus eram, gelidi cum stratus ad Arni 
Murmura, populeumque nemus, qua mollior herba, 130 

Carpere nunc violas, nunc summas carpere myrtos, 
Et potui Lycidae certantem audire Menalcam ! 
Ipse etiam tentare ausus sum ; nee puto multum 
Displicui ; nam sunt et apud me munera vestra, 
FiscelliE, calathique, et cerea vincla cicutae : 
Quin et nostra suas docuerunt nomina fagos 
Et Datis et Francinus ; erant et vocibus ambo 
Et studiis noti, Lydorum sanguinis ambo. 

" Ite domum impasti ; domino jam non vacat, agni. 
Haec mihi tum laeto dictabat roscida luna, 140 

Dum solus teneros claudebam cratibus hcedos. 
Ah ! quoties dixi, cum te cinis ater habebat, 
'• Nunc canit, aut lepori nunc tendit retia Damon ; 
Vimina nunc texit varios sibi quod sit in usus ; ' 
Et quae tum facili sperabam mente futura 
Arripui voto levis, et praesentia finxi. 
* Heus bone ! numquid agis ? nisi te quid forte retardat, 
Imus, et arguta paulum recubamus in umbra, 
Aut ad aquas Colni, aut ubi jugera Cassibelauni? 
Tu mihi percurres medicos, tua gramina, succos, 150 

Helleborumque, humilesque crocos, foliumque hyacinthi, 
Quasque habet ista palus herbas, artesque medentum.' 
Ah ! pereant herbae, pereant artesque medentum, 
Gramina, postquam ipsi nil profecere magistro ! 
Ipse etiam — nam nescio quid mihi grande sonabat 



6i4 LATIiY POEMS: SYLV.^. 



Fistula — ab undecima jam lux est alteram nocte — 

Et turn forte novis adaioram labra cicutis : 

Dissiluere tamen, rupta compage, nee ultra 

Ferre graves potuere sonos : dubito quoque ne sim 

Turgidulus ; tamen et referam ; vos cedite, sylvae. i6o 

" Ite domum impasti ; domino jam non vacat, agni. 
Ipse ego Dardanias Rutupina per a;quora puppes 
Dicam, et Pandrasidos regnum vetus Inogenia?, 
Brennumque Arviragumque duces, priscumque Belinum, 
Et tandem Armoricos Britonum sub lege colonos ; 
Tum gravidam Arturo fatali fraude logernen ; 
Mendaces vultus, assumptaque Gorlois arma, 
Merlini dolus. O, mihi tum si vita supersit, 
Tu procul annosa pendebis, fistula, pinu 

Multum oblita mihi, aut patriis mutata Camoenis 170 

Brittonicum strides ! Quid enim? omnia non licet uni, 
Non sperasse uni licet omnia ; mi satis ampla 
Merces, et mihi grande decus (sim ignotus in aevum 
Tum licet, externo penitusque inglorius orbi), 
Si me flava comas legat Usa, et potor Alauni, 
Vorticibusque frequens Abra, et nemus omne Treantae, 
Et Thamesis meus ante omnes, et fusca metallis 
Tamara, et extremis me discant Orcades undis. 

"Ite domum impasti; domino jam non vacat, agni. 
Haec tibi servabam lenta sub cortice lauri; 180 

Haec, et plura simul ; tum quae mihi pocula Mansus, 
Mansus, Chalcidicee non ultima gloria ripae, 
Bina dedit, mirum artis opus, mirandus et ipse, 
Et circum gemino caelaverat argumento. 
In medio Rubri Maris unda, et odiriferum ver, 
Littora longa Arabum, et sudantes balsama sylvss ; 
Has inter Phoenix, divina avis, unica terris, 
Caeruleiim fulgens diversicoloribus alis, 
Auroram vitreis surgentem respicit undis ; 

Parte alia polus omnipatens, et magnus Olympus : 190 

Quis putet? hie quoque Amor, picta^que in nube pharetrse, 
Arma corusca, faces, et spicula tincta pyropo ; 
Nee tenues animas, pectusque ignobile vulgi, 
Hinc ferit ; at, circum flammantia lumina torquens, 
Semper in erectum spargit sua tela per orbes 
Impiger, et pronos nunquam collimat ad ictus : 
Hinc mentes ardere sacrae, formaeque deorum. 

" Tu quoque in his — nee me fallit spes lubrica, Damon — 
Tu quoque in his certe es ; nam quo tua dulcis abiret 
Sanctaque simplicitas? nam quo tua Candida virtus? 200 

Nee te Lethaeo fas quaesivisse sub Oreo ; 
Nee tibi conveniunt lacrimae, nee flebimus ultra. 



AD JOANNEM ROUSIUM. 615 

Ite procul, lacrymae ; purum colit asthera Damon, 

y^thera pums habet, pluvium pede reppulit arcum ; 

Heroumque animas inter, divosque perennes, 

i^thereos haurit latices et gaudia potat 

Ore sacro. Quin tu, coeli post jura recepta, 

Dexter ades, placidusque fave, quicunque vocaris ; 

Sen tu noster eris Damon, sive aequior audis 

DiODOTUS, quo te divino nomine cuncti 210 

Caelicolae norint, sylvisque vocabere Damon. 

Quod tibi purpureus pudor, et sine labe juventus 

Grata fuit, quod nulla tori libata voluptas, 

En! etiam tibi virginei servantur honores! 

Ipse, caput nitidum cinctus rutilante corona, 

Laetaque frondentis gestans umbracula palmae, 

internum perages immortales hymen^Eos, 

Cantus ubi, choreisque furit lyra mista beatis 

Festa Sionaeo bacchantur et Orgia thyrso." 



Jan. 23, 1646. 

AD JOANNEM ROUSIUM, 

OXONIENSIS ACADEMI/E BIBLIOTHECARIUM. 

De libra Poeniatum atnisso, qjiein ille sihi dcnuo fiiitiz postulabat, ict cum aliis nostris 
in Bibliothecd Fublicd repotieret. Ode. 

Ode tribus constat vStrophis, totidemque Antistrophis, una demum Epodo clausis; quas, 
tametsi omnes nee versuum numero nee certis ubique colis exacte respondeant, ita tamen 
secuimus, commode legendi potius qiiam ad antiquos concinendi modos lationem spectantes. 
Alioquin hoc genus rectius fortasse dici jiionostj-opJiiciivi debuerat Metra partim sunt ko-to. 
(Txiaiv, partim aTroA.eAv/Aei'a. Phaleucia quae sunt spondaeum tertio loco bis admittunt, quod 
idem in secundo loco Catullus ad libitum fecit. 

STROPHE I. 

Gemelle cultu simplic^gaudens liber, 
Fronde licet gemina, 
Munditieque nitens non operosa, 
Quam manus attulit 
Juvenilis olim 

Sedula, tamen baud nimii poetae ; 
Dum vagus Ausonias nunc per umbras, 
Nunc Britannica per vireta lusit, 



Insons populi, barbitoque devius 
Indulsit patrio, mox itidem pectine Daunio 
Longinquum intonuit melos 
Vicinis, et humum vix tetigit pede : 



ANTISTROPHE. 

Quis te, parve liber, quis te fiatribus 
Subduxit reliquis dolo, 
Cum tu missus ab urbe, 
Docto jugiter obsecrante amico, 
Illustre tendebas iter 
Thamesis ad incunabula 
Caerulci patris, 
Fontes ubi limpidi 
Aonidum, thyasusque sacer, 
Orbi notus per immensos 
Temporum lapsus redeunte caelo, 
Celeberque futurus in aevum? 



STROPHE 2. 

Modo quis deus, aut editus deo, 

Pristinam gentis miseratus indolem, 

(Si satis noxas luimus priores, 

Mollique luxu degener otium) 

Tollat nefandos civium tumultus, 

Almaque revocet studia sanctus, 30 

Et relegatas sine sede Musas 

Jam pene totis finibus Angligenum, 

Immundasque volucres 

Unguibus imminentes 

Figat Apollinea pharetra, 

Phineamque abigat pestem procul amne Pegaseo? 



ANTISTROPHE. 

Quin tu, libelle, nuntii licet mala 

Fide, vel oscitantia, 

Semel erraveris agmine fratrum, 

Seu quis te teneat specus, 4° 

Seu qua te latebra, forsan unde vili 



AD JOANNEM ROUSIUM. 617 

Callo tereris institoris insulsi, 
Laetare felix ; en ! iteriim tibi 
Spes nova fulget posse profundam 
Fugere Lethen, vehique superam 
In Jo vis aulam remige penna : 



STROPHE 3. 

Nam te Rolisius sui 

Optat peculi, numeroque justo 

Sibi pollicitum queritur abesse, 

Rogatque venias ille, cujus inclyta , 50 

Sunt data virum moniimenta curae ; 

Teque adytis etiam sacris 

Voliiit reponi, quibus et ipse pntsidet 

^ternorum operum ciistos fidelis, 

Ouaestorque gazae nobilioris 

Ouam cui praefuit Ion, 

Clams Erechtheides, 

Opulenta dei per templa parentis, 

Fulvosque tripodas, donaque Delphica, 

Ion Actaea genitus Creusa. 60 



ANTISTROPHE. 

Ergo tu visere lucos 

Musarum ibis amoenos ; 

Diamque Phoebi rursus ibis in domiim 

Oxonia quam valle colit, 

Delo posthabita, 

Bifidoqiie Parnassi jiigo ; 

Il^is honestus, 

Postquam egregiam tu quoque sortem 

Nactus abis, dextri prece sollicitatus amici. 

Illic legeris inter alta nomina 70 

Authorum, Graias simul et Latinae 

Antiqua gentis lumina et verum decus. 



EPODOS. 

Vos tandem hand vacui mei labores, 
Quicquid hoc sterile fudit ingenium, 
Jam sero placidam sperare jubeo 
Perfunctam invidia requiem, sedesque beatas 



6i8 LATIN POEMS: SYLVAl. 



Ouas bonus Hermes 

Et tiitela dabit solers Roust, 

Quo neque lingua procax vulgi penetrabit, atque longe 

Turba legentum prava facesset ; 80 

At ultimi nepotes 

Et cordatior aetas 

Judicia rebus jequiora forsitan 

Adhibebit integro sinu. 

Turn, livore sepulto, 

Si quid meremur sana posteritas sciet, 

RoUsio favente. 



IN SALMASII HUNDREDAM. 

Quis expedivit Salmasio suam Hundredam^ 
Picamque docuit verba nostra conari? 
Magister artis venter, et Jacobaei 
Centum, exulantis viscera marsupii regis. 
Quod, si dolosi spes refulserit nummi, 
Ipse Antichristi qui modo primatum Papae 
Minatus uno est dissipare sufflatu, 
Cantabit ultro Cardinalitium melos. 



IN SALMASIUM. 

Gaudete, scombri, et quicquid est piscium sale, 
Qui frigida hieme incolitis algentes freta! 
Vestrum misertus ille Salmasius Eques 
Bonus amicire nuditatem cogitat ; 
Chartaeque largus apparat papyri nos 
Vobis cucullos, praeferentes Claudii 
Insignia, nomenque et decus, Salmasii; 
Gestetis ut per omne cetarium forum 
Equitis clientes, scriniis mungentium 
Cubito virorum, et capsulis, gralissinios. 



THE END. 



WHAT THE CRITICS SAY OF 

Crowell'S Illustrated Edition 

OF 

LES MISERABLES. 



'* This translation of Victor Hugo's masterpiece is the best one 
that has been made." — iV. Y. Observer. 

" Can hardly fail to be accepted by critical anthorities as the per- 
manent Standard." — Boston Traveller. 

*' Has been many times translated into English, but never has the 
work been done by so clever and faithful a translator as Miss Hap- 
good." — Albany Press. 

" The most spirited rendering of Hugo's masterpiece into Eng- 
lish, and the illustrations and the letter-press are just as deserving 
of praise." — Phila. Press. 

"The translation ^Yill no doubt supersede all others." — Gin' 
Times- Star. 

'* The publishers have made this book very attractive. They are 
to be commended not only for the edition before ns, but more 
especially for a popular edition which vsill make this great >York 
accessible to a wider class of readers." — Boston Advertiser. 

♦* Deserves the highest praise." — Nation. 

"Miss Hapgood is sjmipathetic ; she becomes one with her 
author. Her rendering of ' Les Miserables ' has not been e(iualled. 
It will not be surpassed. The standard — it is here — is attained." 
— National Bepublican. 

ASli YOUR BOOKSELLER FOR 

CROWELL'S ILLUSTRATED EDITION 



LES MISERABLES. 

By VICTOR HUGO. Translated from the French by Isabel 
F. Hapgood. With IGO full-page illustrations, printed on fine 
calendered paper, and bound in neat and attractive style. 

5 vols., cloth, gilt top, $7.50; half calf, $15.00. 

Popular edition in one vol., 12mo, $1.50. 



THOMAS Y. CROWELL & CO. 



InpoRTANT Historical Works, 



THE FOUNDING OF THE GERMAN EMPIRE. 

Based chiefly upon Prussian State Documents, by Heinrich von Sybel. Trans- 
lated by Marshall Livingston Perrin, assisted by Gamaliel Bradford, Jr. Completed 
in 5 vols. Cloth, per set, $10.00; half mor., $20.00. 

" No more important historical work has appeared in the last decade." — Nation. 

" Impossible to praise too highly." — Chicago Standard. 

" A triumph of historical description." — Detroit Free Press. 

A HISTORY OF FRANCE. 

By Victor Duruy, member of the P'rench Academy. Abridged and translated 
from tlie seventeenth French edition, by Mrs. M. Carey, with an introductory notice 
and a continuation to the year 1S90, by J. Franklin Jameson, Ph.D., Professor of 
History in Brown University. With 12 engraved colored maps. In one volume. 
i2mo. Cloth, $2.00. Half calf, $4.00. 

" Of all the short summaries of French History, this is probably the best." — Ex- 
President Andrew D. White, Cor7iell University. 

A book widely desired by schools, colleges and libraries, students and general 
readers. 

MEMOIRS OF NAPOLEON BONAPARTE. 

By Louis Antoine Fauvelet de Bourkienne, his Private Secretary. Edited 
by Col. R. W. Phipps. New and revised edition, with 34 full-page portraits and 
other illustrations. 4 vols. i2mo. Cloth, plain, $5.00. Cloth, gilt top, paper label, 
$6.00. Half calf, $12.00. Limited edition with over 100 illustrations, gilt top, half 
leather, $10.00. The latest American edition, and the only one with a complete index. 

" If you want something to read both interesting and amusing, get the ' Memoires 
de Bourrienne.' These are the only authentic memoirs of Napoleon which have as 
yet appeared." — Prince Mciternicli. 

RECOLLECTIONS OF A PRIVATE. 

A Story of tlie Army of the Potomac. By Warren I-ee Goss, author of "Jed." 
With- over So illustrations by Chapin and Shelton. Royal Svo., cloth, $3.00. Seal 
russia, $4.(110. Half morocco, $5.00. 

"No volume of war history has given the reader more graphic descriptions of 
army life." — Inter Ocean. 

" One of the handsomest as well as one of the most valuable works in American 
war literature." — Boston Globe. 

HER MAJESTY'S TOWER. 

By W. Hepworth Dixon. New edition, complete in one volume, A history of 
the Tower of London, from the seventh London edition, with 47 illustrations. Royal 
i2mo. Cloth, $2.00. Half calf, $4.00. The result of twenty years' research. 

"The best i)ossible introduction a stranger can have to tiiat famous building." — 
Christian Union. 

THE NARRATIVE OF CAPTAIN COIGNET, 

SOLDIER OF THE EMPIRE, 1 776-1850. 

An autobiographical account of one of Napoleon's Body-Guard. Fully illustrated. 
i2mo., half leather, $2.50. Half calf, $5.00. 

" It is meagre praise to say that it is interesting. It is more than that. It is a 
panorama." — J//w;/crt/<?//.T journal. 

"As direct as Robinson Crusoe, vived almost beyond expression." — Boston 
Herald. 



For sale by all Booksellers. Catalogues sent free upon application. 



T. Y. CROWELL & CO., New York I Boston. 

(23) 



T. Y. CROWE LL & CO.'S NEW BOOKS. 

CHARLES DICKENS'S COMPLETE WORKS. A new illustrated edition, in 15 and 
30 volumes. Large ]2mo. This edition will meet the (hitherto unfilled) wants 
of those desiring the works of Dickens in good clear type, well printed on fine 
paper, handsomely illustrated, tastefully bound, and suitable for library use, 
at a moderate price. 

15 VOLUMES, with 240 full-page illustrations. Popnhxr Edition, i< vols.; 
per set, cloth, $18.75; half calf, marbled edges, $37.50. Library Edition, 15 
vols.; per set, cloth, gilt top, $22.50; half calf, gilt top, $45.00. 

30 VOLUMES, with 799 full-page illustrations, a greater number than in any 
otlicr i2mo edition. Per set, cIoth,"gilt top, gilt back, $40.00; cloth, gilt top, plain 
back, $40.00; half calf, gilt top, $So.oo; half crushed levant, $110.00. 
RECOLLECTIONS OF A PRIVATE. A story of the Army of the Potomac. By 
Warren Lee Ctoss, author ot "Jed." With over So illustrations by Chapin 
and Shelton. Royal Svo. Cloth, $3.2^5; seal Russia, $4. 25; half Morocco, $5.00. 

Among the many books about the civil war there is none which more clearly 
describes what took place among the rank and file of the Union Army, while on 
the march or on the battle-field, than the story given hj Mr. Goss in this volume. 

" It is one of the handsomest, as well as one of the most valuable works in 
American war literature." — Boston Globe. 
MAKING THE MOST OF LIFE. By Rev. J. R. Miller, D.D., author of " Silent 
Times." i6mo. $1.00. 

The following is an extract from Dr. Miller's preface: "These chapters are 
written with the purpose and liope of sUimulating those who may read them to 
earnest and ivorthy living. . . , If this book shall teach pny how to make the 
most of the life God has entrusted to them, that will be reward enough for the 
work of its preparation." 
DOCTOR LAMAR. A powerful work of fiction by a new author. i2mo. $1.25. 

There can be no doubt that "Doctor Lamar" is a remarkable novel. It has 
originality in subject and treatment. The hero is drawn with a master hand. 
The picture of the heroine is a revelation of innocence and beauty of the most 
exquisite English type. The love story which runs througli the book, like a golden 
thread, is an idyl. Few novels are so well calculated to'appeal to a large class of 
readers, comprising, as it does, food both for thought and recreation. 
A WEB OF GOLD. By Katharine Pearson Woods, author of " Metzerott, 
Shoemaker." i2mo. $1.25. 

" One of the strongest books of the year." — Buffalo Express. 
JULIUS WOLFF'S NOVELS. Delightful stories of "old-time life in Germany. 

The Saltmaster of Liineburg. From the 21st German edition. i2mo. $1.50. 

The Robber Count. From the 23d German edition. i2mo. $1.25. 

Fifty Years, Three Months, Two Days. From the 15th German edition. 
l2mo. $1.25. 
TENNYSON'S GREATER POEMS. 3 vols., iSmo. Neatly boxed. Each volume 
illustrated with a photogravure frontispiece and title-page from designs by the 
best artists. Bound in dainty styles. Price per vol., parti-colored cioth, $1.00; 
changeable colored silk, $1.50. Volumes are sold separately or in sets, and com- 
prise the following: " Idyll's of the King," " In Memoriam," " The Princess." 
THE ALHAMBRA SERIES OF NOTABLE BOOKS. 6 vols. i2mo. Each volume 

illustrated with a photogravure title-page and frontispiece from new designs by 
the best artists. Carefully printed on good paper, and bound in original and 
taking styles. Price per Vf)lume, boxed, parti-colorcd cloth, $1.50; changeable 
colored silk, Jp2.oo; china silk, $2.00. The list of volumes is as follows: The 
Alhambra.by Irving; Romola, by Eliot; Lorna Doone, by Blackmore; Scottish 
Chiefs, bv Porter; Notre-Dame, by Hugo; Sket-ch Book, by Irving. 
THE LOTUS SERIES OF POETS. 6 vols. i2mo. Each volume illustrated with 
a photogravure title-page and frontispiece from new designs by the best artists. 
Carefully jirinted on good paper, and bound in original and taking styles. Price 
per volume, boxed, parti-colored cloth, ;^i.5o; changeable colored silk, ^2.00; 
china silk, $2.00. The list of volumes in this series is as follows: Robert 
Browning's Poems; Lalla Rookh, by Moore; Mrs. Browning's Poems; Lucile, 
by Meredith; Lady of the Lake, by "Scott; Tennyson's Poems. 



THOMAS Y. OROWELL & 00„ Publishers, New York. 



JlEW EfilTIOfl OF THE COlWPliETE WOl^KS 



CHARLES DICKENS. 

IN 15 AND 30 VOLUMES. 



I 



T is a well-known fact that for some years it has been impossible to find a set 
of Dickens in 15 volumes tliat met the wants of those desiring his works in 
good clear type, w^ell printed on fine paper, handsomely illustrated, tastefully 
bound, and suitable for library use, at a moderate price. 

The existing- demand and need of the public for such an edition has been fully met 
in the one we have now ready. 

It is also equally true that there is not a 30-volume set of Dickens published in this 
country or England that meets all these requirements so completely as our 30-volume 
edition. We beg leave to call attention more fully to some of the 

POINTS OF EXCELLENCE 

_. ci + ♦ o Dlst+f^c have been cast from new large-faced type, well 
Trie Electrotype riates leaded, easy to read, and great care has been 

used in the proof-reading to preserve accuracy in the text. 

_. _ has been carefully selected, and is of suitable weight for volumes 

The Paper Qf convenient size and thickness. That used in the 15-volume 
edition is a high grade of opaque, macl»ine finish, while the 30 volumes are printed 
on calendered paper, natural color, especially adapted for a fine edition. 
_. . ♦'mo have been faithfully reproduced by Geo. T. Andkew & 

Trie Illustrations Co., at great expense, and comprise all the original ones 
by Phiz, Cruikshank, and others; to these have been added 65 new cuts from 
Patchings by Pailtiiokpe, contained in no other edition, and a fine Steel Portrait of 
Dickens, making in all 799 full-page illustrations in the 30 volumes, and 240 in the 
15 volumes. No other i2mo edition contains so many illustrations as our 30-volume 
edition. 

_ _ . has been executed in the most careful manner by Berwick 

The PreSSWOrK ^ smith of Boston, whose reputation for fine, artistic print- 
ing is well sustained in the cleai'' and sharp impressions of both text and illustrations. 
TU D- M' have been selected with the view of obtaining the most taste- 

The BlhClingS ful cover designs, and harmony in colors. 

, . as a piece of book-making is highly satisfactoiy, furnishing a 
The Result series of volumes creditable to the publishers, and a pleasure 
to every purchaser. 

, , This edition being sold in sets or in separate 
Volumes sold separately, volumes, the advantage of this arrangement 
will be appreciated by those who find it more convenient to purchase one or two 
volumes at a time. 

PRICES. 
30-VOLUME EDITION. With all the original illustrations by Phiz, Cruikshank, 
etc., and many later ones, to which have been added 65 new cuts from etchings 
by Pailthorpe, contained in no other edition, and a steel portrait, making, in all, 
799 full-page illustrations. Printed on fine calendered paper, large i2mo. 
30 vols., gilt top, cloth, gilt back, $40.00 I 30 vols., half calf, gilt top . . $So.oa 
«« " gilt top, cloth, plain biick, ^0.00 1 " " half crushed levant . 110.00 
Volumes sold separately in the plam back, cloth binding, at $1.50 per volume. 

15-VOLUME EDITION. Carefully printed on fine machine-finish paper, with 
' 240 full-page illustrations. Large i2mo. 

Popular Edition. 15 volumes, cloth $18.75 

" " " " half calf, marbled edges 37.50 

Library Edition. " " cloth, gilt top 2250 

«♦ «' " « half calf, gilt top .45.00 

Volumes sold separately in cloth styles. 



0-i 



ASK YOUR BOOKSELLER FOR CROWELL'S NEW EDITION. 

'^ Y. OEOWELL & CO., Publishers, New York. 



Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 
Neutralizing agent: Magnesium Oxide 
Treatment Date: March 2009 

PreservationTechnologies 

A WORLD LEADER IN COLLECTIDNS PRESERVATION 

111 Thomson Park Drive 
Cranberry Township, PA 16066 
(724)779-2111 



"-IBRARY OF CONGRESS 




010 455 711 9 



